When No One Else Cares
by KennyMcCormick1313
Summary: It's never really clear. The definition of "love", that is. But it certainly isn't what's going on between Kyle and Kenny. At least, that's what one of them thinks. Things are going horribly wrong, and neither one is sure how to deal with it. This trainwreck is going to work itself out, they're certain. But how...?
1. When No One Else Cares

**Oh yes. This is really what it looks like. I retyped the first 3 Chapters of my beloved story, When No One Else Cares, because - quite frankly - they made me sick. There were terrifying continuity errors and... well... the just generally sucked hard ass. So, here ya go. :) Rewritten.**

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_**When No One Else Cares**_

Kenny lay, stretched out, on Kyle's couch, taking up as much space as possible, his typical orange coat discarded by the door. "Got anymore food?" he asked between mouthfuls of ice cream. "OH FUCK!" he shouted suddenly, one hand flying to his forehead. "Fuck… fuckfuckfuckfuck."

Kyle jogged out of the kitchen and slid down the hall, almost falling when he tried to stop. "What? What happened? Are you okay?" He rushed over to Kenny, searching for a visible sign that something had happened.

"Yeah… just… brain freeze…" the blonde teen forced out through clenched teeth. His eyes were shut tightly as well. "Got any food that won't turn my head in to a fucking icicle?" he slowly opened one eye, though it remained squinted, and looked at the other boy, whose fire red hair still swayed from his hurried movements, light reflecting off the different tones that wove through the messy curls.

The Jewish boy glared down at his friend, frowning. "Yeah. We have some leftover Chinese in the fridge." He folded his arms over his chest as the boy's eyes snapped open and a wide smile spread across his face, hinting that he wasn't in all that much pain. _Overdramatic little…_ Kyle grumbled internally.

"Yes!" He shouted, standing up and rushing to the kitchen. "My lucky fucking day…" he mumbled as he wrenched open the fridge door, causing bottles of sauces and containers of spices to rattle.

"You have a problem, you know that?" Kyle said as he walked in to the kitchen after Kenny, his arms still folded over his chest. "A serious problem you should get checked out."

"Mmph?" Kenny asked through a mouthful of cold chicken fried rice as he stepped back from the fridge, his arms holding more food than either one thought humanly possible. He closed the door with his foot and dumped everything on the counter, earning a disapproving eyebrow arch from the redhead. "What?" he asked again once he swallowed the large mouthful of food.

"Your swearing." The normally quiet intellectual replied, unfolding his arms and stuffing his hands in to his pockets. "It's out of control." He leaned against the door, his emerald eyes focused on the other boy that piled as much food as he could in to the Broflovski's small microwave before setting it to 'Reheat'.

He shrugged, his black-clad shoulders lifting by about an inch before falling again as he remained focused on the microwave. "Guess you're right. Oh well. Is it really that bad?" He popped the door and took the food out, coating it in sweet n' sour sauce before stuffing his face.

"Well, I think you should try stopping. If my mom heard you, she would kick you out in a heartbeat." Kyle frowned as Kenny, his mouth still full from the last round, shoved more food in to the microwave, once again setting it on reheat.

"Rr yur mmrents ere?" Kenny asked through a mouth full of sweet-n-sour-sauce-with-a-side-order-of-chicken-balls as he turned to face Kyle, the red sauce dripping down his face, giving him the appearance of a C-list horror movie vampire. He rolled his eyes when his friend gave him a questioning look, swallowed, wiped his mouth, then asked again. "Are your parents here?" he leaned against the counter, resting on his palms and crossing his ankles over each other. "Because I don't see them anywhere."

"That's not the point, Kenny." Kyle grumbled, exasperated, "if they were here, they'd kick you out. You should practice being well-mannered while you still have the chance." He pulled one hand out of his pocket to run it through his hair, wincing and grimacing when one of his fingers got caught in a curl. "Owww…" he whined, tugging his finger out of the tight swirl of hair.

"Well, when it happens, it happens. Right?" Kenny hoisted himself on to the counter and sat beside the microwave, waiting for it to finish cooking the rest of his meal. "Anyways, why does it matter if they kick me out?" a mischievous spark danced in Kenny's eyes as he asked the question – he'd find a way back in somehow.

_Beeeeep._

The microwave finished reheating the rest of his second plate of food, and he quickly opened it and tugged it out, the hot plate burning his fingers. "Ow! Fuck, dude…" he stuck the burned fingers in his mouth and sucked on them, frowning. "'Ow m I gunna eat wif my 'and in my mouf?" he frowned passed his fingers at his food, his brow furrowed. "Kyyyylle…" he whined, turning around, "can you get me thome ithe?" he asked his concerned-looking friend. _'What are you so worried about, Kyle?' _he thought as the other boy went through the freezer, popping some ice cubes in to a cloth, _'if I died, you wouldn't remember it.'_ He wrinkled his nose bitterly as Kyle turned his back to close the freezer, then smiled gratefully when he turned back around and handed him the ice-filled cloth.

"You should be more careful, Kenny." Kyle said, sounding like somebody's mother. "Oh, and when do you think you'll be heading home? My mom wanted to know…" He jumped up on to the counter that Kenny had been leaning against, taking a bite of one of the chicken balls before his friend could drown it in disgusting amounts of the viscous red condiment.

"When… am I going home…?" the pale blonde echoed, suddenly looking distant, "well… um… actually… I don't… know." He looked down and shifted the ice in his hand, trying to fight back the sudden urge to cry.

"Hey, dude. What happened? You know you can tell me." The concerned daywalker put his hand on his sullen-looking friend's shoulder, but pulled back when he winced.

Kenny looked up at Kyle, his watery blues meeting the concerned green eyes staring at him. "I… I kind of got kicked out. And, well, my parents got kind of rough. They were drunk, though." He mumbled as though it were a valid excuse then shrugged again, feigning nonchalance.

"You're kidding." When Kenny's pained expression didn't waver, Kyle hopped down off of the counter so he could see Kenny eye to eye – well, almost; Kenny was more than a few inches taller. "You're serious." He said, feeling the blood drain from his face. "What did they do to you, man?" he asked, afraid of what the answer may be.

Without saying a word, the taller boy lifted his shirt up and over his head. He wasn't scrawny, as Kyle had assumed he would be, but well defined. Tight muscles flexed under bruised and bloodied skin. Where there wasn't black, there was blue, or green, or purple. And, covering most of it were lines of blood and several shallow cuts. Upon seeing the curly-haired teen's face blanche, Kenny quickly grabbed his shirt and pulled it back on. "It's not as bad as it looks, really. The cuts are just from broken glass – beer bottles and shit. The bruises don't hurt that bad, either."

"You need to get washed up. And I won't take no for an answer." Kyle pointed towards the stairs that led up to the bedrooms and second floor bathroom, not wanting to push him in case he caused more pain. "When you're done, I'll bandage you up, alright?"

Kenny frowned at Kyle, every bit of him wanting to throw the worried teen against the counter and have his way with him. _'But,'_he reasoned with himself, _'your best bet at getting any is to play along until after your shower. Just walk out in a towel… or maybe nothing…'_ He smiled, then nodded, making his way towards the bathroom.

It was going to be an interesting night.

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**OI! You wonderful readers you. Please review this, yeah? I was kicking around the idea of rewriting (okay, they're not rewritten. Just tweaked a fair bit) these chapters for a while. Did I do a good job? Does it flow better now?**

**Mega-love **

** - K**


	2. It's Supposed to Hurt

**Chapter two! Tweaked like Chapter one. Enjoy :3**

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_**It's Supposed to Hurt**_

After stripping down and nervously inspecting the extent of the damage in the mirror, Kenny stepped in to the Broflovski's large shower and turned the water on, letting it run hot before stepping directly in to the spray. His tense muscles relaxed under the unrelenting pressure of the water, his worries melting away. He looked down at himself, flicking his sopping hair out of his eyes. His well-tone stomach was covered in small, jagged cuts and bruised skin. He shuddered and lifted his head, not wanting to see the damage.

He focused on the pounding if the water, letting it wash away all of his thoughts. All that existed was the gushing spray that crashed against him. The pounding… pounding… pounding…

His thoughts suddenly changed to Kyle. Pounding against Kyle. In the shower. With him. His mind began to race and he could feel the blood rushing down, down… down… He licked his lips out of habit once he realized where the blood was headed. He reached one hand down and wrapped it around his newly hardened member and began to pump, thoughts of Kyle flying through his head. _'Ho…ly… shit… dude…'_ his mental self breathed, marveling at the varying positions he imagined Kyle and himself in. _Is it even… possible to be that flexible?_

Kenny couldn't remember how long he stood there, one hand on the wall of the shower, the other pumping furiously on his groin. He released a breath he didn't realize he had been holding when he finally unloaded. He watched it swirl away, wondering why it was Kyle of all people that made him feel the way he did. Normally, it was only girls that could get him as wound up as Kyle did. Large-breasted, scantily clad women. _'There's… there's just something about him…'_ he thought to himself, continuing on with his shower as though nothing had happened. He washed his body and his hair, his mind constantly mulling over his thoughts about Kyle.

When he considered himself clean, he stepped out of the shower and bent to pick up his clothes, but stopped before he reached them. _'Look sexy, Kenny.'_ A small voice in the back of his head whispered, _'it's the only way you're getting any.'_ After a moment of debating, Kenny agreed with the voice and settled for wrapping a towel around his waist. He walked over to the mirror and stared at his reflection, occasionally ruffling his hair so it would dry casually messy.

Once he was satisfied that he looked as hot as he could, he left the bathroom - clothing in hand - and headed towards the living room where Kyle sat. When he entered the small, yet tasteful room, his friend was focused on the television. He greeted him the, without bothering to look up, gathered up the medical supplies spread out on the floor. "C'mon, Kenny." He said, still not looking, "we're gonna get you all fixed up."

"Um, sure… but do you have any extra clothes? Mine have some blood on them." He leaned one shoulder against the doorway, hoping to find the most appealing pose short of spreading his legs like the tramp everyone knew he was.

Only then did Kyle look up, dropping the medical supplies in shock, his cheeks quickly darkening to match his hair. "I… uh… yeah. Yeah, I do. There should be some in my room." He looked back down, praying that Kenny hadn't seen him blushing, but knowing that he had.

Disappointed with such a small reaction, Kenny readjusted his towel so it fell just above his knees, then walked over to the couch. "Help me find something that looks suitable?" he asked, looking down at the other boy who looked like he may faint. Smirking to himself, and proud of the affect he knew he could have on the fiery-headed boy, Kenny flexed his abs, ignoring the pain in hopes of getting a bigger reaction.

Kyle looked up again, his blush deepening. "Er… sure. Yeah. You go ahead, and I'll be up in a minute. I'm just gonna grab all of… this…" he motioned to the bandages and swabs that covered the floor once again.

"Let me help, dude." The charming blonde offered, tilting his hips forwards imperceptibly in an unnoticeable display of lust.

"You sure? I mean, you could go ahead and get dressed. I'm fine with this stuff." The blushing boy's eyes had trouble focusing on Kenny's face, instead preferring to wander up and down his mostly-exposed form. He winced occasionally when he saw a new cut or bruise.

"But I'd just have to take my shirt off again so you could clean me up. And, well, that just sounds like way too much work." He feigned a yawn and stretched, using it as an excuse to show off as much of himself as he could. _'If it were anybody else, I'd just strip down and that would be that. But with Kyle…'_ he frowned inwardly at his newfound consideration towards his blushing friend.

"Uh… true, true…" Kyle agreed, albeit it was somewhat reluctantly, "I guess you can help me. But you're putting pants on when we get up there. You're way too comfortable without clothing on."

"Nothing wrong with loving the breeze!" he smiled a big, broad smile, and Kyle couldn't help but laughing. _'That's not the kind of getting in your pants I wanted to do…'_ his mental self grumbled bitterly at the thought of putting clothes on around his friend instead of taking them off.

"There is when your lack of clothing is making me hot…" Kyle muttered under his breath, too quiet for Kenny to hear. Or so he thought.

Kenny's hearing was much better than Kyle had assumed, so he absolutely had heard him. After only a moment's debate, he unwrapped the towel and let it fall. "Well, if the towel made you hot, then I should expect that this just sends you through the fucking roof, doesn't it?" he stood in his nude glory, quite proud of himself.

Kyle's jaw dropped, and he remained in shock as Kenny proceeded to undress him as well. First his shirt, which was slid up over his head without him even noticing – he assumed it was because Kenny seemed to have more than a little practice with it and succeeded in doing it frighteningly quickly. Next, his pants. Forest green skinnies held up by more than a handful of brightly coloured belts. Each fell to the ground under the blonde's deft fingers. Finally, his Terrance and Phillip boxers – to which Kenny offered a small "really? Still?". Once they were both in their proper "fun-time" attire, the well-toned blonde slid behind his stunned friend and made a low purring noise in the back of his throat.

"Wait, dude!" The Jewish boy shouted when his senses finally returned to him, idly making note of the fact that he was completely naked. "What will Bebe think? And what about the guys? And… well… what if it hurts…?" He suddenly felt more than a little self-conscious, unsure if he should run screaming or let it happen. He knew that his mind was telling him to run, but that his heart (_oh, Moses, how gay does THAT sound?_) was telling him to stay put. His body? Well, let's just say his body was more than a little… _eager_.

Kenny just smirked in to Kyle's soft, curly hair, the purring noise stopping for a moment. He wasn't going to let stupid little worries like that get in the way of his master plan. When Kenneth James McCormick wanted sex, he fucking got it. "Fuck Bebe. Fuck the guys. _Fuck __**you**__. _And… it's supposed to hurt."

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**GASP! KENNY! You dirty little boy. Bad. Down. *spray bottle***

**Review, yeah?**


	3. Call me Kinky

**Pretty sure this is the last chapter I'm tinkering around with. **

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**_Call Me Kinky_**

Kyle bit his lip and took a few small steps forwards, giving himself enough space to turn around and address Kenny without any… awkward brushes, though remained facing away. He wasn't entirely sure he could handle what he knew was waiting behind him just yet.

He pretended not to notice his erection as he tried to keep a level head.

_Just breathe,_ the nervous teen told himself, fighting a libido he didn't eve knew existed, _you're straight. You have a girlfriend. You have Bebe. You're not in to guys…_ he repeated his "stay straight" mantra over and over before he began to get lost in his own mind. A warm, calloused hand brought him back to reality.

"Stop it, dude!" he snapped, whirling around, his coppery curls bouncing about his head in a cloud of red. His face, which had been nearing the same brilliant shade as his hair, blanched immediately as he completed his turn.

Kenny stood before him, one hand resting on his hip, the other still stretched out towards the Jewish boy who now stood with his jaw hanging open, moving slightly as though he were attempting to speak.

His hair - somewhere between sand and straw - stuck up in so many different directions, leaving little golden mountains and waves all over his head. The hair that everyone assumed was greasy because it was always hidden under a hat or a hood, wet with sweat from a day of hard work, or simply because it reflected light in the weirdest, most mesmerizing way, was actually incredibly silky. It seemed even more so now that it was drying after his recent shower. With some detached sense of curiosity, Kyle noticed just how quickly it was drying. As the nervous young Jew allowed his eyes to wander down (only the tiniest bit, making sure that they didn't flick down to any more _noticeable_ parts of his body) to Kenny's face, he tried to regain some of his common sense. But before he could gather himself, he was grabbed by the bluest eyes he could ever remember seeing in his short life. They looked almost _TOO_ blue, as though they were contacts, or perhaps eyes from those ani-may shows his little brother Ike loved so much. A deep, wonderful blue that reminded the Hebrew of his favourite pencil crayon – peacock blue. In fact, it more than reminded him of his beloved artistic tool – it matched the colour perfectly. They were the damn _essence_ of the colour. Once he noticed the main colour of the mystifying orbs – _peacock blue, peacock blue…_ - he felt as though something grabbed him and dragged him deeper in to the strange world of Kenny's Eyes. He felt free to observe the minute flecks that seemed to swim in the ocean of Perfect Blue. Some lighter flecks danced and twirled, while the darker ones jumped and swirled. He also noticed a miniscule ring of cobalt around each iris. It was such a deep cobalt, so dark and rich… it was almost as fascinating as the peacock blue that surrounded it. Distractedly, some part of Kyle noted that he was acting gay, but he couldn't have cared less.

Kyle was mesmerized by the flickering blue eyes that were surely searching his own for any sign that he planned to allow Kenny to finish what he had started. An edge of annoyance flashed through them when he found nothing short of stupefied wonder. The blonde barely kept from grinding his teeth in frustration.

The forest green eyed teen let his gaze drop but a few inches lower (still ever-so-careful as to avoid viewing a well-toned chest, noteworthy abs or anything farther… south) to stare at his frustrated friend's mouth. His lips; parted slightly and letting out short, restrained breaths, were a pale, dusty rose colour. They were cracked and slightly dry from the cold Colorado wind and the low amount of water that the poverty-stricken teen drank. Kyle soon found himself wondering what it would be like to kiss those lips. What they would feel like on his smooth, pink mouth. He must have done something to give away his thoughts (he had subconsciously licked his lips and leaned forwards ever so slightly), for Kenny's lips – which had been turned down the tiniest bit in an almost imperceptible frown of discontentment – curved up in to a knowing smirk. The right corner of his mouth pulled up slightly, revealing the tiniest bit of drink-and-smoke-yellowed incisor. Kyle blushed and quickly looked away, the heat of a rosy blush rushing to his cheeks.

"You're tempted, Kyle…" Kenny purred in a low, sultry tone. He picked distractedly at the dirt under his nails, as thought this sort of situation was normal for him. _Was it?_ Kyle wondered. "It's sort of obvious." He continued, dropping the seductive voice in favour of his normal, teasing tone. "Plus, you're as hard as a flag pole." He gestured vaguely to the blushing redhead's pelvic area.

Kyle bit his lip once again – _Why am I doing that? It makes me look like a chick._ – and pretended not to hear the taunting blonde, instead focusing on getting rid of his increasingly apparent erection. He was obviously failing, for he could still feel it and – by his look of smug satisfaction – Kenny could still see it. With an angry grunt, he gave up and grabbed his clothing, keeping a wary eye on his horny friend.

Said horny friend frowned and wrapped his towel around his waist, then held up his hands in a mock show of surrender, presumably saying 'I'll behave'. He knew when to retreat and regroup – he didn't get to be the most-desired lay in South Park (hell, he was more called upon than Cartman's mom by both genders) by forcing anyone into anything. Unless they were in to that sort of thing, of course.

"Jesus, Kyle!" the sexually frustrated teen grumbled, starting towards the stair.. "All I wanted was a piece of daywalking ass! Manswers says you redheads are the most likely to put out, and since Red was more than willing I just thought you might be at least a LITTLE interested…" he continued to complain until his voice was too muffled by the floor to understand.

Kenny's muffled voice brought fond memories of childhood to the forefront of Kyle's mind as he tugged on his jeans. Despite all of the massively insane things that used to (and still do, on occasion) happen in they're little town of South Park, they were the best days of his young life. Back then, everything was simple. No gray areas (except for Cartman's ass which was somewhere between fat and FUCKING HUGE). Back then, he had known exactly what was important and what wasn't – his priorities were in order. Candy, video games (videos games were still fairly important), Terrence and Phillip (also still a list-topper)… all of those were at the top of his list. But his teenage years had turned almost EVERYTHING in to a gray area. He knew that friendship was important, but now sex and dating were important, too. School was important, but partying was necessary if he wanted to be cool (and avoid ridicule from the guys). He _KNEW _that girls were important, especially his blonde bombshell girlfriend Bebe, but now he was battling a boner caused by one of his best guy friends. Everything just felt so damn confusing! Kyle shook his head, banishing the thoughts of naked Kenny that crept in when he wasn't paying attention. Pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to come up with an image that would be the equivalent of a cold shower. He finally succeeded when an image of his mother dancing, kicking her leg up over her head, flashed across his mind's eye. With a shudder and a quiet "yeugh", he pulled his shirt over his curly hair and sat heavily on the worn couch.

Kenny came jogging down the stairs, three at a time, with a huge grin on his face, in Kyle's pajama pants paired with an Owl City t-shirt. "Hey, Kyle!" he greeted, acting as though the almost-kinky fiasco hadn't even happened. "I can still crash here tonight, right?" he tilted his shaggy blonde head to the left, reminding the moody redhead of a golden retriever puppy. When the only response he got was a furrowed brow and a meant-to-be-intense glare, the ever-comical blonde flopped dramatically on the couch, squeezing as close to the arm and as far away from where Kyle was sitting as possible. "If I promise to be a real good boy and to keep my hands to myself the whole time, can I stay?" Always the masterful manipulator, he widened his distractingly blue eyes and pouted in a long-since perfected pleading puppy dog expression that Kyle suspected he used on many girls (and perhaps a few boys) to get _exactly_ what he wanted. "I'll be good! I promise I will. I-I'll sleep down here, on the couch. I'll keep my clothes on. I'll leave you're clothes alone. I won't even watch any porn! I'll do whatever it takes…"

He continued to pout and list off all of the reasons why he should be allowed to stay, while Kyle sat. Silent. He was going to say yes, and they both knew it, but some part of the reluctant Hebrew felt as though he owed it to his dignity to at least pretend to consider it turning him away.

The determined teen beside him was still listing off important points (now his own personal upsides, such as his "winning smile" and "charming demeanor") when Kyle turned to him, rolled his eyes and said, "dude. Chill. You can obviously stay." Flashes of cut and bruised skin floated through the curly haired boy's head, and he fought back a shudder.

With an emphatic "whoop", Kenny settled more comfortably into the couch and flicked on the TV, causing multicolored lights to fill the still-darkening room. Large, bold letters on the screen informed them that they were watching Manswers. The blonde's eyes widened and his jaw dropped, his tongue practically hanging out of his mouth, as scantily clad women made out with each other on the screen before them. The sight made Kyle think of the cartoons Ike would watch when he thought no one was looking, the ones where the coyote would drool over the bird who always escaped with a nasally "meep meep".

"D'you see this, man?" the drooling blonde asked as we wiped a small trickle of saliva from his jaw with the back of his hand. "It just said that pregnant chicks have this hormone in their piss that makes lesbians horny! If I had some of that, I could totally get with a dyke!" The still-salivating teen continued to ramble, bouncing like an excited child.

Kyle watched him, utterly confused (and pretending to ignore his more-than-a-little offensive comment). Not even ten minutes ago, he had stripped them both naked and was more than willing to do to Kyle what he was talking about doing to the girls on the television. Was he bisexual? Kyle didn't think so. Whenever they got together with Stan and Cartman to talk about their girlfriends, Kenny would be ready with a mile long list of girls that he had slept with recently. Never any mention of boys. Also, he didn't act the slightest bit gay. And, in South Park, if you were gay, even the tiniest bit… everyone knew. Like Big Gay Al, who spoke with a pronounced lisp and practically skipped when he should be walking. Or Mr. Slave, who shoved poor Lemmiwinks up his ass. Not even like Butters, who – despite his persistent denial – everyone knew was a total flamer. Kyle had never met a gay person who wasn't obviously gay. But… Kenny _did_ just try to do something to Kyle that was obviously, beyond any reasonable doubt, GAY. The daywalker shook his head, thinking that if the phrase "obviously gay" popped into his mind again, he'd explode.

With a resigned sigh and an exaggerated eyeroll, Kyle turned to his apparently horny friend (who was currently saying something about whip cream, water beds, and lace) and paused. Maybe, when they were little, Kenny had actually been easy to understand… and they just never listened. After a moment of confusion at the sudden thought, he cleared his throat.

"Yo, Ken." The excited blonde stopped chattering about different sexual positions and looked at his confused friend with that stupid inquisitive retriever look that made Kyle's heart skip a beat. (_Why? I'm _STRAIGHT_!_)

"Yeah?" he asked, using what appeared to be a Herculean effort to not turn back to the television when the announcer said something about hookers. "Can you hurry, dude? He's about to tell me how to tell if I'm talking to a cop or a prostitute." The straw haired teen displayed his ability to multitask as he focused on Kyle while still managing to listen to the show. (Kyle believed he already did know how to tell the difference, and was just attempting to avoid an awkward situation… but he let it slide.)

"I've got a kinda… weird question for you." Kyle absently picked at his nails, much as Kenny had earlier, in a failed attempt to recreate his easy indifference.

Sensing how important the "weird question" was to Kyle, Kenny clicked off the TV to pay full attention to the nervous Jew. Kenny was good at many things and, while he counted being a 'manwhore' as one of them, he could also proudly state that knowing the seriousness of an issue was one of them as well. "Alright, dude. Shoot."

"Well…" he began, scratching at an invisible stain on his forest green skinnies. "Are you… y'know… bi?" the least word was whispered, as though saying it out loud would make it true. "What I mean is… what's your sexuality?" Kyle was thankful for the darkness that filled the room, as it hid the blush that had surely crept across his face, covering the unnoticeably pale dusting of freckles that covered his nose and the apples of his cheeks. (He'd deny having them, for fear of Cartman stepping up from calling him a "daywalking Jew" to teasing him with "ginger Jew".)

There was a period of silence that stretched between the two teens while Kenny absorbed what had just happened. Each passing second added to Kyle's mounting anxiety, causing him to become more fidgety, until he resembled a red-haired Tweek.

Suddenly, a loud snortish sounding noise ripped through the silence and Kyle jumped a good two feet in the air before he realized that Kenny was _laughing. _And not just a snicker, chortle, or even a chuckle, but big, loud, hiccupping guffaws. Punctuated by the odd snort, of course. The laughing continued full-force for a few minutes before Kenny had to stop for fear of dying of laughter (again).

"My… sexuality?" he echoed, trying to catch his breath. He had one arm wrapped around his ribs and the other draped over his face. His head rested on the back of the couch. "I dunno, dude. I've never really thought about it." He shifted the arm covering his eyes so he could look at Kyle, twin blue orbs seeming to glow in the shadow of the appendage. "Why?"

"I dunno, man. Just… y'know, earlier… and… well…" he stuttered and stumbled over his words for a little while longer before Kenny decided to put him out of his misery with a dismissive shrug and a yawn.

"If I had to label it…" he paused to think, looking rather serious, "I'd say… I'm ambiguous."

"Ambiguous?" Kyle asked, wondering how someone could be 'ambiguous' when it came to their sexuality.

"Yeah. It doesn't really matter to me if it's a boy or a girl. Or a cat, a tree, a small child, or a toaster." He smiled at his own joke, which Kyle had been very close to taking seriously. (He still suspected some part of it was true, especially the tree and the toaster… and maybe even the cat. He _did_ have that cheesing issue… maybe he found a more… amusing use for the back end of a cat? But feared voicing his suspicions in case they were correct). "As long as there's a hole, I don't really care what's around it."

Another short pause while the stunned redhead (ginger) let what his friend said sink in. "Dude." He stated simply, staring at the blank TV, "that's gross."

This brought on another bout of hearty laughter from Kenny, who stopped to shrug and say "call me kinky" before flicking the TV back on in time to see girls having their bodies painted with camouflage paint.

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**I worry myself. Toaster? Cat? Tree? SMALL CHILD? SERIOUSLY? ... Dudes, I'm sick. **

**:3 And sick people love reviews!**


	4. Family

**Here it is! The next chapter, entitled "Family". I know it seems wordy and mildly off-plot, but it plays a massive role in the story. I know it's up a bit later than I had originally planned, but that's because I had a few things go wrong when writing it. Anyways, I hope you enjoy it, because I really did enjoy writing it. Ah. Yes. There are probably a few mistakes, because I was in a bit of a hurry to type it up. If you find a mistake that you want fixed, just tell me and I'll fix it. **

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Kenny went home late Sunday night, and no one had seen him or heard from him since then.

He had gone home hopeful and in high spirits after his night with Kyle. After their short discussion on sexuality (which Kenny had found beyond hilarious), they finished watching a 4-hour marathon of Manswers, followed by a couple of UFC reruns, and eventually decided to crawl in to bed (much to the relief of the rest of the Broflovski family who had arrived home part way through the last hour of Manswers). He had, indeed, slept on the couch that night, and it was the best sleep he had gotten in a long while. Kyle had slept upstairs, in his room, and Kenny had made good on his promise of behaving, not even flicking through the channels to find some interesting looking adult entertainment. The Only even remotely devious thing he did since making his promise was to call a purring "goodnight, sweetie" to his friend's retreating form, which caused him to quicken his pace and, the blonde could only guess because the redhead's back was to him, blush. The rest of the night and the following day were fairly uneventful until the two parted ways.

Kenny wished the uneventfulness could have stretched on.

When he finally got home, wearing clothes he had left at Kyle's for exactly this sort of situation, he noticed a few things. First, Kevin (his older brother by two years) was passed out in the front yard among empty bottles, cans, and a scattering of rusting car parts. Second, he was only wearing dirt-covered boxers and one hole filled sock. The younger McCormick boy sighed and grabbed the elder boy under the arms and pulled him into the garage, planning on rolling him on to the sleeping bag bed that was set up for such things. When he had finally managed to haul Kevin's 170 pounds of dead weight in to the garage and up to the 'bed', he found it was already occupied. Among the foul smelling sleeping bags sat a small, female form. His little sister Karen. Karen, six years Kenny's junior, seemed to be the only positive constant in his life. She sat, curled up in a little ball, on the pile of ratty blankets, clutching a small stuffed cat that Kenny had bought when she was born. He watched her sleep for a little, her tiny side lifting up and down with slow, rhythmic breaths, before remembering he needed to shove Kevin onto the makeshift bed.

With a small frown and a wish to leave her be, he crouched down and nudged her. "Karen." He whispered, brushing a few strands of hair from her face. "Karebear." He said her nickname a little louder than he had her real name. He also placed a hand on her tiny shoulder and shook her as gently as possible. He was always gentle with Karen; she just seemed so delicate and frail. Kenny had hoped that after he left, his parents would have calmed down at least a bit, but – if Karen sleeping in the garage was any sign – they hadn't. he

The blonde's nudging and urging was answered by a quiet groan and the feeling of his sister shifting under his hand. "Hey. Karen." He bushed a few more strands of tangled brown hair out of her face while smiling softly.

"You're home." The 10 year old sat up, yawned, and stretched, all the while regarding her sweater clad older brother with a sort of sleepy adoration.

"Mmmhmm. I'm home." He hugged her, an action that she happily returned. Kenny wasn't really a huggy person, but he made an exception when it came to his little sister. "Can you do me a favour?" the blonde picked up the stuffed cat from where it lay on the blankets, handing it to the small girl.

Karen rubbed he big, blue, McCormick eyes and nodded. Like her brothers, she preferred not to speak, and instead was content to not or shrug. It was a habit that they had developed over the years in an attempt to keep themselves under the radar at home.

"I want you to go up to my room and wait for me, kay?" His question was answered by yet another nod and a barely suppressed yawn. "Be real quiet," he added, "we can't let mom and dad know that you're staying with me again." Karen staying with her older brothers was one of the main reasons Mr. And Mrs. McCormick got mad at the little girl. When she was scared, she'd stay in either Kenny or Kevin's room (usually Kenny, because he was much less likely to be drunk than Kevin, who used the alcohol to escape) so she could feel safe enough to at least get a little bit of sleep. Once again, the seemingly muter girl nodded before hugging Kenny, kissing Kevin on the head, and quietly slipping through the doorway that lead to the house, careful not to bump the door that hung open on one rusted hinge. Kenny couldn't remember the last time it had been closed.

"Now…" the lanky, straw-haired teen breathed, grabbing his brother under the arms once again and heaving him on to the rank sleeping bags. He then pulled a particularly warm looking one over him to keep him from freezing. _You owe me, Kev._ He thought before following his sister's path to the house.

Inside, he found his father passed out on the couch in front of their second hand TV, which was currently displaying some particularly disturbing porn on its black and white screen. Kenny paused, debating on whether or not to watch the program, but decided against it and ventured further in to the filthy house.

It was a large house and, under all the grime, garbage, and smoke stains, it was fairly beautiful. Kenny had seen pictures of the house when the McCormicks had just moved in, before Stuart and Carol had taken to smoking and drinking heavily, squandering all of their money on booze and smokes in place of repairs and cleaning supplies, and he thought that it would have been a house to be proud of. He and his brother did odd jobs around town to pay the bills and buy the rare bit of food, after their parents traded food stamps to support their addictions.

Walking passed the kitchen, the teen was so deep in thought that he almost didn't notice his mother, who was asleep at the table, snoring loudly with a burnt down cigarette hanging out of her mouth. The last few embers were dying as he looked at her. He considered waking her to say that he was home, but thought better o fit and continued to the creaking stairs that lead to the second floor and his bedroom.

Karen was waiting for him, wearing on of Kenny's faded old band t-shirts that fell to her knees and a pair of rather ratty-looking sweat pants. She held the stuffed cat by its tail, making the teen think of the first time he had sewn it back on. He remembered how many times he had jabbed the needle into his fingers almost fondly, knowing that he was helping his sister.

"I was quiet." She whispered, running an old brush through her messy hair.

Kenny couldn't help but smile as the young girl struggled to pull the brush through her nearly waist-length hair. He nudged the door shut behind him, leaving a small crack between it and the doorjamb so he could hear if either of his parents were approaching before walking over and silently taking the brush from his little sister. He carefully ran it through her hair, basking in the feeling of unconditional familial love.

Kenny loved no strings attached relationships; it's why he bounced from partner to partner. He couldn't afford to get attached and have his attention drawn away from his family. After a few minutes of rhythmic brush strokes, Karen began to hum a song that Carol had once sung to them during her sober moments. Eventually, Kenny joined in and the two sat humming. Karen's soft, high hum was accented by her brother's low, bass tone rumble.

They were so caught up in their rare moment of comforting peace that they didn't hear Stuart stumbling up the steps.

* * *

Kyle looked at his phone for what felt like the hundredth time since Kenny had left, wanting more than anything to send a message asking if his friend was okay. He knew it was stupid – Kenny would come back if things were too bad at home – but he still couldn't help but make himself sick with worry. The anxious teen scraped food off of his family's dishes as the rest of the Broflovskis filed in to the living room to watch something on the television. He scrubbed and rinsed each dish as though he were washing away the awkward memory of the night before.

All of the imagery and shared words were still fresh in his mind, but what stuck out the most wasn't being stripped naked, or even the should-have-been-scarring realization of Kenny's intentions. It was the way that the non-too-picky blonde had described his sexuality.

"Ambiguous…" the still-fidgety teen muttered as he dried the last plate and slipped it into its proper place in the cupboard with as little noise as possible. He leaned back against the counter, his arms folded across his chest as he attempted to calm his racing mind. _You're acting like Tweek,_ he scolded himself, taking several long, slow breaths. He had absolutely no idea what was wrong with him. He felt an odd sort of twisting in his stomach that made him want to vomit. The feeling made him want to hate Kenny, for he was sure that this crazy feeling was somehow the affable blonde's fault, but he just couldn't. With an angry grunt, he pushed himself off of the counter, and the thought of Kenny from his mind, and trudged in to the living room. He sat on the only empty spot available, his spot, between Ike and his father. The thirteen year old snorted in protest and shifted his position so that his adoptive brother was no longer sitting partially on his leg.

"Kyle!" the younger teen griped, shoving his older brother with all of his less-than-impressive might. The redhead simply chuckled and ruffled the smaller boy's black hair affectionately. "Stop it!" he whined, swatting Kyle's hand away from his tuft of hair.

"_Stop it!_" The elder Broflovski repeated, imitating his brother's protests, much to Ike's dismay. He then stuck his tongue out in a childish display of defiance before turning to see what his family was so enthusiastic about watching. Much to his disappointment, he found that it was some sort of political debate show. He let his head fall back against the couch with an over-emphasized, drawn out groan.

"Kyle!" Shelia snapped, muting the TV in preparation for a long-winded speech on the important roles that politics and debates play in a child's life.

Before the heavyset woman could so much as say a word, the increasingly agitated teen heaved himself off of the couch and headed up to his room. Kyle couldn't understand why he was suddenly so angry, he just was. He could hear Cartman's grating voice in his head; _"Haha! Kyle's on his man period! Stupid Jeewww. Periods are for girls! Ahaha!" _He ground his teeth against the thought. Sighing, he began to regret his attitude. He never showed defiance towards his mother (because, quite frankly, the woman was a frightening tank of a creature) but he just felt so frustrated that he couldn't help himself. When he got to his room, he slammed the door and flopped down on his bed like a hormonal girl, ignoring the angry voice of his mother floating up the stairs. He knew she was too interested in the debate to come upstairs and yell at him, so he didn't bother shouting an apology down to her. He buried his face in his pillow and exhaled noisily. The teenaged Jew had begun to resent the way he was feeling, and to resent the fact that he couldn't hate Kenny for making him feel that way. Partly because he was the one feeling it, but mostly because he could not comprehend _what_ he was feeling. Broflovski children were geniuses, and Kyle was no exception. He was excellent in everything he did, acing every quiz and exam that was thrown at him. It took him mere minutes to fully understand any academic concept. Not being able to understand something, especially if it was happing to him, was almost painful.

"Jesus Christ," he spat, lifting his head off of the fluffy pillow to glare at his laptop that sat innocently upon his desk. Not because it had done anything, simply because he felt the need to glare at something, and the laptop was directly across the room form where he lay.

The blank screen stared calmly back at him, for he had left it open after last checking his e-mail. He wondered exactly what time that had been. _Before Kenny came over…_ the teen thought before he could stop himself. He was trying his hardest not to think about the blonde with peacock blue eyes and crooked smirk… As far as he was concerned, the whole situation had never happened. It was now taboo.

With an exaggerated grunt of exertion, Kyle pushed himself off of the plush bed and dragged his feet all the way over to the computer desk. He pulled the wheelie chair back and flopped into it, then slid down so far he was almost on the floor. Pressing the power button, he began to wonder once again if Kenny was okay. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and set it beside the computer, willing Kenny to text him. To distract himself, the increasingly frustrated teen spun himself in circles, pushing off the hardwood floor with his bare toes. He let his mind wander as his room became a blur of spinning colours.

Kyle only ceased his spinning when the laptop flared to life, asking him to enter his password. He gripped the edge of the computer desk until the world stopped twirling around him in some sort of bizarre dance. The redhead drummed his fingers against the keyboard for a moment before typing 'superbestfriendkyle' into the space provided. It had been his password since third or fourth grade; he couldn't remember which. He knew it was juvenile, but he was a creature of routine and habit, and couldn't bring himself to change it.

Once the computer registered the password and logged him in, he clicked open his e-mail. Scrolling through the spam and Facebook notifications (noti-fuck-ations, Stan called them) to find an actual, worthwhile message. He was expecting to be disappointed until he almost scrolled passed a message from Bebe Stevens entitled "You know I love you, right?"

Suspicious, Kyle opened it. His face fell as he began to read.

* * *

Kenny stood protectively in front of Karen, his shoulders heaving as his breath came in short, ragged bursts. His left eye was swollen shut, his nose had been broken, and he was covered in more cuts and bruises than he had been when he fled to Kyle's.

"You stupid pig." Stuart slurred, shaking an empty bottle of cheap liquor at his two youngest children. He attempted to take a step towards them, but stumbled back against the wall, his elbow hitting hard enough to leave a hole. "Takin' 'vantage of yer little sister. You disgust me." He glared at Kenny with heavy-lidded eyes as he spouted out his usual accusation of Kenny having more than a close family relationship with his sister. The teen ground his teeth against a comment as his father continued his rant. His little sister gripped his hand and moved closer to him.

This just added fuel to his father's fire, and his voice began to rise. "You're useless boy!" he boomed, swinging the bottle again, "I told yer mom that I didn't want no more kids! 'Specially not one who WON'T FUCKING DIE!"

Suddenly, the empty bottle was flying across the cluttered room. It connected with Kenny's head just above his right eye and shattered. The bits of glass left jagged cuts that trickled blood down the blonde's face, burning his good eye. He fell to his knees as a massive wave of pain racked his body, causing Karen to let out a small, squeaky gasp. Struggling to stay conscious, the teen glared hatefully at his father.

The drunk stumbled closer to the two, and Kenny noticed that he no longer blocked the door. Turning his head slightly, the blonde whispered rushed instructions to the frightened young girl. "When dad is far enough from the door, you're going to run. Run real fast, Karen. Go out to the garage. Hide under the blankets with Kevin. Dad's too drunk to go looking for you." Stuart was now only a few feet from them, his swaying form far enough from the door to allow Karen to squeeze through. Kenny nudged his sister and barked, "run!"

And run she did. Karen darted around Mr. McCormick and through the open door. She bolted down the stairs and across the living room. After slipping silently through the door to the garage, she carefully made her way over to the pile of blankets that held her eldest brother. She attempted to focus on Kevin's rattling snores rather than listen to the shouts, thumps, and crashes that echoed from the house.

Karen knew that Kenny wouldn't be coming back for a few days this time.

* * *

_Hey, Kyle. I have something to tell you. I couldn't bring myself to call you or text you because I just feel so bad. Please don't hate me, Kyle. Because I still love you and I just made a bad choice. A really, really bad choice. I don't want to tell you about it, but here it goes. I went to a party with Wendy, Red, and a few other girls. When we got there, we met up with Clyde, Stan, and a few other guys. Wendy and Stan hung out (duh) and Red sort of just slipped off… but Clyde and I kind of got talking and drinking and… well… things got pretty heated. We went upstairs and… omg, Kyle. I'm so sorry. I cheated on you. I understand if you're mad._

_Love from, Bebe Stevens._

Kyle stared at his screen for a long while, his jaw hanging open in shock. He reread the e-mail several times to make sure he wasn't seeing things. But, no. There it was right there. _I cheated on you._ That single line seemed to jump off the screen. He felt like it was bold, underlined, and four times larger than the rest of the text that swam around it. He felt like he was paralyzed, trapped within his own body. Unable to move or look away. Capable only of reading that goddamn line over and over again.

Finally, he blinked and was freed from the message's spell. He slowly shut his computer, got up, and walked over to his bed. He felt as though he were in a dream; everything felt surreal. He had never been cheated on before. He carefully lowered himself onto his bed and closed his eyes, deciding he'd face the issue at school. He figured he'd already been stressed enough recently.

* * *

**Another chapter done, yeah? So, KEEP REVIEWING. Or I'll keep putting angry CAPS notes at the bottom of each chapter. Thank you very much to the people who have reviewed, your encouragement and critiques are always super welcomed. Thank you muchly. **

***IMPORTANT NOTE***

**The next "chapter" is going to be the characters' timetables, because the next ACTUAL chapter and a few future chapters are primarily school based. The timetables are as much for you as they are for me, because I wil be checking them frequently to make sure I have people in the right places at the right times. **


	5. Timetables

**DON'T READ UNLESS YOU REALLY WANT TO. This is just everyones' timetables. In fact, I suggest you only read it if you need to clearify who is where at what time. :) Thank you.**

8:55 School Start

8:55-9:45 Block A

9:45-9:55 Break

955-1045 Block B

1045-1055 Break

1055-1145 Block C

11:45-1245 Lunch

1245-135 Block D

135-145 Break

145-235 Block E

235-245 Break

245-335 Block F

335 Home Time

**Kenny:** Always walks w/ Butters. Usually w/ Style when Style walks

855-945 – Math (Applied)

945-955 – Break

955-1135 – Shop Class (Dual Credit)

1135-1245 Lunch (Extra 10 mins because no break in dual cred.)

1245-135 – Gym (All Male)

135-145 – Break

145-235 – English (Academic)

235-245 – Break

245-335 – Art (Open)

**Kyle:** Walks w/ Stan or Bebe rides bus w/ Stan, or alone

8:55-9:45 – Law (Enriched)

945-955 – Break

955-1045 – World History (Academic)

1045-1055 - Break

1055-1145 – English (Enriched)

1145-1245 - Lunch

1245-135 – Science (Enriched)

135-145 - Break

145-235 – Comm Tech (Advanced)

235-245 Break

245-335 – Art (w/ Kenny)

**Butters:** Always walks w/ Ken

8:55-9:45 – Math (w/ Ken)

945-955 – Break

955-1045 – Cooking (open, mostly female)

1045-1055 - Break

1055-1145 – Fashion and Design (All female + Butters)

1145-1245 - Lunch

1245-135 – Gym (w/ Ken)

135-145 - Break

145-235 – English (w/ Ken)

235-245 Break

245-335 – Art (w/ Kenny)

**Stan:** W/ Kyle or Wendy

8:55-9:45 –Science (Academic)

945-955 – Break

955-1045 – World History (w/ Kyle)

1045-1055 - Break

1055-1145 – English (w/ Kyle)

1145-1245 - Lunch

1245-135 – Drama (Open)

135-145 – Break

145-325 – Gym (All male, dual cred.)

325-335 – Showers

**Bebe:** On bus w/ Wendy, or walks w/ Kyle or Clyde

8:55-9:45 – English (Academic)

945-955 – Break

955-1045 – World History (W/ Kyle)

1045-1055 - Break

1055-1145 – Fashion and Design (w/ Butters)

1145-1245 - Lunch

1245-135 – Drama (w/ Stan)

135-145 - Break

145-235 – Cooking (open)

235-245 Break

245-335 – Art (w/ Kenny)

**Wendy:** w/ Stan or Bebe

8:55-9:45 – Law (w/ Kyle)

945-955 – Break

955-1045 –Women in History

1045-1055 - Break

1055-1145 – Fashion and Design (w/ Butters)

1145-1245 - Lunch

1245-135 – Science (w/ Kyle)

135-145 - Break

145-235 – Cooking (w/ Bebe)

235-245 Break

245-335 – Art (w/ Kenny)

**Clyde:** w/ Craig and Tweek or Bebe

8:55-9:45 – English (w/ Bebe)

945-955 – Break

955-1045 –Comm tech (open)

1045-1055 - Break

1055-1145 – History (Open)

1145-1245 - Lunch

1245-135 – Drama (w/ Stan)

135-145 - Break

145-235 – Gym (Male, not w/ Stan)

235-245 Break

245-335 – Cinematography (Advanced)

**Craig:** Always with Tweek

855-945 – Math (w/ Ken)

945-955 – Break

955-1135 – Shop Class (w/ Ken)

1135-1245 Lunch (Extra 10 mins because no break in dual cred.)

1245-135 – Science (w/ Kyle)

135-145 – Break

145-235 – Gym (w/ Clyde)

235-245 – Break

245-335 – Art (with the rest of the goddamn kids)

**Eric:** Bus alone, sometimes walks w/ the guys

8:55-9:45 – Law (w/ Kyle)

945-955 – Break

955-1045 – World History (w/ Kyle)

1045-1055 - Break

1055-1145 –Comm tech (open)

1145-1245 - Lunch

1245-135 – Drama (w/ Clyde)

135-145 - Break

145-235 – German (open)

235-245 Break

245-335 – Cinematography (w/ Clyde)

**Tweek:** Always with Craig

8:55-9:45 – Math (w/ Craig)

945-955 – Coffee Break

955-1045 –Comm tech (w/ Clyde)

1045-1055 – Coffee Break

1055-1145 – History (w/ Clyde)

1145-1245 – Lunch (Extended Coffee Break)

1245-135 – Science (w/ Craig)

135-145 – Coffee Break

145-235 – Gym (w/ Craig)

235-245 Coffee Break

245-335 – Stress Management

**Damien:** ALWAYS walks Pip home (when he's top side, which is only 5 months a year)

8:55-9:45 – Science (Enriched, split w/ Stan)

945-955 – Break

955-1045 – World History (w/ Kyle)

1045-1055 - Break

1055-1145 –English (w/ Stan)

1145-1245 - Lunch

1245-135 – Gym (open)

135-145 - Break

145-235 – Drama (advanced)

235-245 Break

245-335 – No one knows. He skips it.

**Pip:** Walks w/ Damien

8:55-9:45 – Science (Enriched, split w/ Stan)

945-955 – Break

955-1045 – Cooking (w/ Butters)

1045-1055 - Break

1055-1145 –English (w/ Stan)

1145-1245 - Lunch

1245-135 – Gym (w/ Damien)

135-145 - Break

145-235 – Drama (advanced)

235-245 Break

245-335 – Art (still w/ the others)

**C****hristophe:** Walks alone or w/ Gregory

855-945 – French (open, easy credit)

945-955 – Smoke Break

955-1135 – Shop Class (w/ Ken)

1135-1245 Lunch (Extended smoke break)

1245-135 – Science (w/ Kyle)

135-145 – Smoke Break

145-235 – Gym (w/ Tweek)

235-245 – Smoke Break

245-335 – No one knows this either. He skips, just like Damien.

**Gregory:** Bus or walks w/ 'Tophe.

8:55-9:45 – Law (w/ Kyle)

945-955 – Break

955-1045 – World History (w/ Kyle)

1045-1055 - Break

1055-1145 – English (w/ Kyle)

1145-1245 - Lunch

1245-135 – Science (w/ 'Tophe)

135-145 - Break

145-235 – Gym (w/ 'Tophe)

235-245 Break

245-335 – Art (w/ ….. yeah. You get it)

**Token:** Parents drive

8:55-9:45 – English (w/ Clyde)

945-955 – Break

955-1045 –Comm tech (w/ Clyde)

1045-1055 - Break

1055-1145 – History (w/ Clyde)

1145-1245 - Lunch

1245-135 – Drama (w/ Stan)

135-145 - Break

145-325 – Gym (w/ Stan)

325-335 – Showers

**Red:** Walks w/ Ken and Butters or bus

8:55-9:45 – Math (w/ Ken)

945-955 – Break

955-1045 – Cooking (w/ Butters)

1045-1055 - Break

1055-1145 – Fashion and Design (w/ Butters)

1145-1245 - Lunch

1245-135 – Drama (w/ Token)

135-145 - Break

145-235 – English (w/ Ken)

235-245 Break

245-335 – Art (I'mma let you guess)

* * *

I really hated doing this. I really did.


	6. Welcome to Hell

**Kay, it's a _kinda_ long chapter, but I suppose it doesn't warrant being divided into two parts. ... It's wordier... wordier? No way that's a word. Andywhoo, it's got more words than I had anticipated. But it's, like, my favourite chapter so far... but chapter... 8? 9? One of the two... that chapter is truly frightening... the plot will indeed thicken.**

* * *

Kyle Broflovski found school painfully easy. He was at the top of every one of his classes, tied only with Cartman in World History, Wendy in Law, and Gregory (attending SPH because Yardale was "sharing" their students with "lesser" schools) in pretty much everything. All of his classes seemed idiotically simple. Except for one. One class confounded him with its methods and practises. One class that no matter how hard he tried, he just _could not_ master it. As far as Kyle was concerned, this one class had been created for the express purpose of torture.

_Art._

Sure, he enjoyed the class; all the scratching of pencils on paper and the _swish_ of paintbrushes against canvas was profoundly soothing after a day of academic brainwork. But he just couldn't _do_ any of it. When asked to draw a realistic animal, Kyle had ended up drawing something that resembled a spiky pile of mud with one large eye (he had, in fact, been attempting to draw Stan's dog Sparky). When asked to shape something out of a lump of clay, he simple ended up scratching a face into the block's surface. No matter the project, however simple or childish, he could not seem to get a grip on it. Everyone else in the class seemed to have no problem with the complex techniques that the "_artistically impaired_" teen (as his art teacher had so tenderly put it) couldn't wrap his brain around. It bothered him greatly that everyone in his class – including nasally, sarcastic, UNCREATIVE Craig Tucker – was doing better than him. His was only thankful for two things about his otherwise dismal art class. 1. Eric Cartman was not in it. 2. Kenny was.

Kyle would swear on his own life that the filthy minded teen was an artistic genius. Every last piece that the blonde did screamed professional, so much so that Kyle demanded he do an entire project in front of him so he could make sure that he wasn't sneaking off to have someone else do it. The angry redhead soon wished that he hadn't said anything, for, within minutes, Kenny had produced a "rough" ("Rough my ass," Kyle had said), and startlingly realistic, pinup sketch of Red.

"I could colour her, too…if you want." He said, gesturing to the skillfully shaded drawing.

"_N…no…" the Jew answered, defeated and fearing further embarrassment. "It's fine as is…"_

"Alright…" the blonde had shrugged and looked up from the drawing to stare at Kyle," now stop staring at my girlfriend." With that lighthearted comment, he rolled up the paper and took it to his art drawer at the back of the room.

Kyle pulled himself out of the memory as he reached the worktable he shared with Kenny at the very back of the large room that has once been an auto class, and sat across from the current one. With a sigh, he heaved his stuff-to-the-point-of-breaking satchel (which everyone _oh-so-lovingly_ referred to as his "man purse") on to the table and began pulling out his art supplies. One extra large sketchbook filled with poorly drawn animals and written conversations between him and Kenny about their heavily-accented Russian teacher who looked suspiciously like a man (_"Is that a hair?" "A hair? U crazy? It looks like a forest of hair!_) A large pack of barely touched Prismacolours (except for the peacock blue, which had been worked down to an unusable nub) that he set gently on top of the sketchbook. Finally, he pulled out an eraser, a sharpener, and a pack of presharpened-to-perfection pencils, all of which he set delicately beside the pencil crayons.

Once everything was set up exactly how the moderately OCD teen liked it, he looked up to glance around the still-empty room. He was always the first person there, unless Kenny had a project he wanted to finish, in which case he appeared to simple materialize in the art room after his fifth period English class. Kyle had come to expect it in the open level classes that he took; people frequently signed up for classes like art because they were searching for an easy credit, and very few cared enough to actually show up in general, let alone on time. After him would usually come Butters and Kenny (unless the latter pulled his after-English disappearing act), laughing and joking in hushed tones. They had become very close since their intermediate years in grade school, and frequently turned to each other for help when their family situations got particularly bad. Kenny was also the only one out of their little group of friends who hadn't said a thing against the smaller boy when he was having trouble "discovering" himself.

As Butters walked through the classroom door by himself, Kyle realized that Kenny wouldn't be showing up. He would have suspected something was up at lunch, but he had gone straight from English to the library to type up a science report that he had forgotten to do over the weekend. He hadn't even stopped to talk to Stan after class.

With a tired groan, Kyle put his head down on the table. He was having conflicted feelings about his constantly upbeat friend's absence. On one hand, it meant avoiding awkward situations and highly confusing feelings… but on the other hand… well, Kenny wasn't there. He continued to wallow in what could only be described as self-pity, entirely forgetting the reason he had been so eager to talk to Kenny earlier on.

He carried on in such a way until a high, musical sound reached his ears. It was a sound he knew all to well, and belonged to the reason for the majority of his odd behaviour.

Bebe Stevens.

Kyle slowly lifted hiss head up off of the paint-splattered table to stare at the door, which was where the laughter was coming from. Sure enough, the curly haired blonde (blonde, blonde, blonde. Why was everyone blonde? He had no luck with blondes!) came bouncing into the room, talking animatedly to Wendy. Her black jeans clung to her hips, which seemed to dramatically flick from side to side every time she took a step. The red blouse she wore cinched and flared in all the right places, and was unbuttoned dangerously low, leaving little to the imagination. The quiet nerd (Cartman's words, not his own) had no idea how he had ended up with her.

He also didn't know why she was there. She hadn't been in World History, so why would she show up to art, the class she almost always skipped? Yet there she was, her soft ringlets bouncing as she threw her head back in an exaggerated display of laughter. The light that shone in from the window across the room (for their were windows everywhere in SPH, allowing ample light in and leaving the children to stare forlornly out at that which they were missing) seemed to focus on her, reflecting off of her hair in an almost meaningful glare. Kyle imagined she was what an angel would look like.

_An angel of death…_ he thought bitterly to himself after a moment of awestruck puppy love. He remembered that he was mad at her for cheating on him with Clyde. Of all the people on the world… Clyde! He reeked of tacos and new shoes.

Bebe continued to laugh and swing her hips all the way over to her desk in the opposing back corner. The now-angry redhead watched her from his table, grinding his teeth and balling his fists – both angry coping mechanisms he had learned from Kenny. He wasn't particularly mad at his girlfriend; she had simply begun to follow in her mother's footsteps, and he brain cells appeared to be dying. He was mostly mad at Clyde. Everyone knew about the Broflovski/Stevens relationship; it was almost as well known as Stan and Wendy's precarious pairing (which their friends had affectionately named Stendy). He knew that they had been drinking, but that knowledge didn't ease the pain. He still expected them to show at least a little common sense.

Kyle felt betrayed. He felt isolated and used. Bebe was the first girl that Kyle had every really felt anything for (he didn't count the home schooled girl, because her brother was evidently crazy). In fact, Bebe was responsible for a lot of Kyle's first. He attended his first real party as her date. His first drinking binge (and subsequent hangover), his first kiss, first date, first relationship, first… time. And now, his first broken heart.

At least, he knew he was supposed to have a broken heart. But all he managed to feel was a dull throb and a sort of hollow anger. Lost in his thoughts, he didn't hear Butter's carefully pull back Kenny's chair and ease himself into it.

"Hey, Kyle!" the much too chipper blonde piped, startling his friend and causing him to jump. "Ken's n-not here today, huh?" his bright expression wavered and he began to bump his knuckles against each other, a habit he had been trying (unsuccessfully) to break. "Well, I-I went to his house this mornin', 'cause we always walk to school together, a-and Karen, his little sister… well, shucks. I bet you already knew that. "Kyle did know Karen; Kenny had brought her to his house once when Stuart was going on some sort of drunken rampage. Guessing that Butters had nothing really important to say, he went back to stewing in his confusing swirl of emotions. Unaware that he had lost his only listener, the boy in the turquoise sweater continued speaking. "She told m-me that Ken was sick. An' I thought that was awful weird, 'cause Ken never gets sick." It was true – despite substandard living conditions, the poverty-stricken teen rarely fell ill. And, when he did get sick, he'd come to school anyways so he could avoid his parents. "When I asked if I could go in an' see 'im – he does that for me, y'know; visits me when I'm sick – Karen shook her head and closed the door real quick. I thought that was awful strange, too. What d'you think, Kyle?" Butters looked up from his work to look at the redhead, only to find that he was staring across the room at Bebe. "Kyle?" he repeated, frowning.

The teen started at the second urging, looking away from the preoccupied girl to acknowledge Butters. "Huh?"

"Well, gee, Kyle. If ya didn't wanna listen, you shoulda said somethin'. I probably l-loked awful dumb talkin' to myself…" the quiet blonde looked scorned as he continued to bump his knuckles together.

Kyle's heart always stung when Butters looked as he did then. He knew that the timid teen had lived through plenty of tough times – currently at the hands of his parents and, years ago, at the hands of Kyle and his friends. Everyone tormented Butters. Everyone but Kenny.

Kyle's stomach flip-flopped itself up onto his ribcage at the though of the two unfortunate teens and their seemingly never-ending kindness.

"Sorry, Butters," he managed through the increasingly apparent lump in his throat. After swallowing a few times and clearing his throat to the point of wanted to vomit, he sat straight up in his seat and faced Butters. "My mind was elsewhere…" slowly, a though wormed its way into the teen's head. "Say, Butters… you have a class with Bebe, right…?"

* * *

Hell wasn't really as bad as everyone kept saying. It really wasn't. Kenny's theory was that, after years of torturing souls, Satan basically said, "fuck it – let's party".

Sure, there was the fire, brimstone, and people in chains that the preachers warned everyone about… but the fire was great for s'mores, the brimstone was great for getting the smell of vomit off the streets, and the people in chains generally enjoyed it. Hell had houses, streets, stores, and one slimeball fast food place that always seemed to be full (Kenny knew it was just an illusion, and that the food was free if you had the brains to skip the line to the counter).

But the part that the perpetually dying blonde found most surprising was where he constantly woke up. Everytime he landed in Hell, he'd wake up in an absurdly plush bed in a room postered with scantily clad and naked women. The rest of the house was similarly decorated, and the fridge was filled with enough alcohol to kill a man several times over. Kenny always wished he could stay forever.

The blonde's eyes snapped open to stare at a ceiling as familiar as the cracked and water stained one he woke up to at home. He leisurely stretched and glanced around the room at all of the posters and pictures. Though some were rotting or mutated (Zombie and Demon porn were big in Hell) Kenny adored them all. They were always there for him. With a grunt and the snapping of many joints that had evidently settled into their positions, he sat up. Looking down at his newly uncovered body, he realized he was completely naked. It didn't surprise him much, considering he always woke up naked in Hell. He was certain that demons were stealing his clothes, but kept his mouth shut for fear of sounding like Tweek on the subject of the accursed Gnomes. After pulling himself out of bed and into a pair of clean boxers (orange, of course), he made his way over to the closet and slid open the door.

The closet always amazed Kenny. The thing was so full of clothes (arranged by colour in a rainbowesque pattern, with an abnormally large orange section), that the financially challenged teen had to take a moment to take it all in. His eyes roamed over the impressive selection, seeing everything from suits to shorts. Almost involuntarily, he reached out and grabbed a multi-article hanger that held four pairs of orange shorts, each of varying lengths. He unhooked a pair of board shorts with multiple pockets and slid into them. He was closing the door when he noticed a sleeveless orange hoodie with brown faux fur around the hood. He pulled it over his shirtless torso and sauntered down to the main floor.

Bottles clanked as he dug through the fridge for a simple coke.

Time moved in weird ways in Hell. By the time the blonde had found his drink and opened it, Kyle was waking up Tuesday morning.

Kenny whistled some unknown tune a she reluctantly left the air-conditioned house to brave the summer heat of Hell, drink in hand. At first he walked aimlessly, observing some shameless couples humping like dogs in the streets. Eventually, he found himself on Damien's doorstep. The two Hellbound boys had become close friends after a preteen Kenny repeatedly shows up at his house looking sad and lonely.

"Hey, Ken," the black haired teen held the door open with a smile. Kenny was no longer bothered by the other boy's natural appearance, simply seeing the small horns, spade-ended tail, minute wings, and forked tongue as part of his friend.

"Hey." He returned the smile and slinked through the door into the thankfully cool house.

"What happened this time?" Damien asked, pointed tail twitching. Despite what everyone said, the Son of Satan was a gossip whore.

"Dad" Kenny replied simply, shrugging. "I have a few questions for you, dude." Blue eyes were cast down in embarrassment at having to discuss the most chick-like of issues.

Emotions.

Being utterly immune to awkward moments such as the one he was currently in, Damien flopped onto the couch and motioned for the shamed blonde to continue.

"Well… you and Pip are an item, right?" he sat in a plush armchair facing the couch, forearms resting on his knees. His friend nodded, eyebrows raised with intrigue. "How do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Y'know… stay together. You're stuck down her 7 months a year, so it's obviously not because of the sex." Kenny's confusion was plain as he struggled with the concept of a not entirely physical relationship.

Damien snorted and laughed before finally calming enough to answer the question. "Easy," he said, smiling. "I love him."

* * *

"What?" Kyle asked as Butters finished. "What do you mean?" he twisted his paint brush anxiously between his fingers.

"Ye-yeah…" the blonde stammered, rubbing his knuckles against each other once more. "She said she wuh-wasn't sure if she loved you or Clyde more. I'm real s-sorry, Kyle." He bit his lip nervously, fearing any anger his recon may have incurred.

"Me… or Clyde…" the redhead wrinkled his nose at the thought. "Are you sure that's what she said?"

"Yup." Butters mumbled, sounding a bit more confident after apparently deeming Kyle unlikely to explode.

"Okay. Thanks Bu-" Kyle's expression of gratitude was cut short by a stern-looking man hitting the front desk with a weather-worn cane, demanding silence.

* * *

Kenny stared at the large, blank television, attempting to figure out exactly what Damien had meant. He had said that he loved Pip, and that was how they stayed together.

"Love…" the shaggy-haired blonde tested the word by saying it out loud, allowing it to linger in his mind for several minutes. He was certain the he didn't love Kyle. But he did like him. Did he like him enough to love him? He had never even said the word before. Not even to Karen.

_Karen._

An image of the small, brown-haired girl flooded his mind's eye. She was scared and crying, tears cutting paths through the thick grime on her face.

_Karen._

Her name pulsed in his head like the beating of a ritualistic drum. She was looking at him, tears slowly stopping, stuffed cat swinging almost imperceptibly at her side.

_Karen._

She opened her mouth and began speaking. Kenny had to strain to make out what she was saying. One word repeated over and over again. Chanted to a familiar tune. A name. _His_ name.

_Kenny._

He barely had time to prepare himself for The Pull.

_Kenny._

The Pull was horrible. It felt like a harpoon hitting Kenny in the guts and dragging him upwards. He would know; it's happened to him

_Kenny._

His vision began to flicker, and he knew it was a matter of seconds before he was torn from Hell.

_Kenny._

His head swam and he began to feel sick.

_Kenny._

The harpoon pulled hard.

_**Kenny.**_

And everything went black.

* * *

**Yeeeaaaaahhhhhh... ._. This story looks like it's starting to run away from me, and that frightens me. Eventually, the characters will be the ones writing the story and I'll just have to let them. You can't control rampaging South Parkians. Now REVIEW. REVIEW. R.E.V.I.E.W. _REVIEW_**


	7. Chemistry Sucks, Dude

**HOLY SHIT. Yeah, I know. It's been quite a while since I've posted ANYTHING... but, well, I got seriously sick, then my computer got some nasty viruses... then life got distracting... but here it is. The next chapter. Read and enjoy!**

_**Chemistry Sucks, Dude.**_

Kenny woke with a start, gasping for breath, his head pounding as though Tweek's infamous Underpants Gnomes we're hammering at his skull. He felt the lingering pain in his abdomen where the familiar harpoon of energy had dragged him back up from his much preferred home in Hell.

With a grunt of exertion and several bursts of pain from the motley crew of bruises and cuts that coated his body, he managed to force himself into a sitting position. Gingerly, Kenny ran practised hands over his body, satisfied when he found only one broken (yet rapidly healing) rib. The beating must have been severe is he still suffered from the multitude of injuries even after having died and returned. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he began to fish under his stained and lumpy pillow for his second-hand cell phone that he worked so hard to pay for. Flipping it open, he let out a low whistle of amazement, Bold, capitalized, flashing letters on the minute screen informed him that he had 47 new text, and 18 new voice messages. Choosing the lesser of the two evils, he decided to go through the texts.

Twenty or so were simple "hey"s from his classmates, about twelve were from Kevin's friends searching for drugs, six warned Kenny that he needed to pay his bill or lose the phone, and five were rather provocative images from the ever-mischievous Red – which he decided to save in case he couldn't get to the real thing when the need hit.

Four were from Kyle, each sounding more desperate than the last.

_Hey, Ken! Get better soon; I've got to tell you something. _**Monday May 30****th**** 4:28 PM**

_Dude. Text me back. Seriously. Karen says you're sick and won't let us see you. What's up? _**Tuesday May 31****st**** 3:56 PM**

Kenny smiled to himself at Kyle's overwhelming need of perfect grammar, spelling, and punctuation. Even when texting.

_Okay, I'm worried, Ken. Really Worried. I've been to your house 4 times. Each time, Karen sends me away. TEXT ME. _**Tuesday May 31****st**** 9:37 PM**

_Fine. I'm coming over this morning to get you. End of discussion. _**Wednesday June 1****st**** 7:44 AM**

Kenny looked over at his ancient alarm clock. "Shit," he hissed, realizing that Kyle would be knocking down his door in minutes with a fury that could only be inherited from Sheila Broflovski. He quickly deleted the text and voice messages, knowing that the latter would just be a repeat of the former, then rolled out of bed and hobbled over to his closet.

Looking in the cracked and smudge-covered mirror that hung from his closet door by one rusted hook, Kenny realized that e was wearing a wife beater and _goddamn orange pants_. Full-length orange _track pants_. After years of dying and waking up in the same outfit, he had begun to hate the parka (and more recently the sweater, which lay in a crumpled pile beside the bed – probably discarded during the fitful bought before consciousness), and pants that constantly greeted him upon his return to the mortal world. Yet, at the same time, the pure orange outfit gave him an odd sense of nostalgic comfort. It reminded him of times when he was just a kid who could dick around. A time when he didn't have to look after a terrified sister and a drunken brother. Back when everything was simpler. With a sigh, be trudged back over to his bed and picked up the forlorn looking sweater. He slipped his arms into it, deciding to leave it unzipped due to the increasing heat that came with South Park's short and brutal summer.

"_**Kenneth McCormick!**_" a stern, crisp voice snapped from the hallway outside the peeling paint-covered door, followed by the jiggling of the doorknob (which had a tendency to stick shut).

Smiling once again, the momentarily content blonde responded with a song-song (bordering on opera-like) "Coming." Adjusting his faux fur-trimmed hood, he opened the door and let all 5 feet 5 inches of Kyle's impatient fury into his cluttered room. "Hello there, small angry one." He purred in a falsely soothing tone.

Kyle simply glared up at his significantly taller friend with smoldering green eyes. His overstuffed satchel hanging from his shoulder and resting on the opposite hip, an emerald green scarf looped around his neck with the loose ends sitting perfectly even on his chest. _He's such a… a… hipster…_ Kenny observed with an air of amusement.

"I thought… you…. I thought that you were… y'know… mad at me…" the redhead's voice was quiet and cracked, and his eyes glistened with unshed tears. Eyes that finally found, or perhaps lost, their strength and pulled from the oceans of concerned peacock blue that watched him. It was only then that he saw the bruises, scrapes, and cuts on Kenny's exposed neck and collarbone. Small, puckered lines of red surrounded by purples, greens, and an assortment of other terribly worrying colours. Shock forced him to look back up at his friend's face, noticing a fat lip and a ring of purple-black around his right eye, giving him the appearance of a Dalmatian rather than the usual Labrador puppy.

"What?" Kenny asked, feigning panic as he ran nervous hands over his neck and face, dealing with the pain for the sake of the joke. "Is there something on my face?"

In an entirely feminine display of anger, Kyle smacked him hard on the chest with an open hand. "You _ASS_!" he snapped, turning and walking towards the door. "Grab your backpack and meet me outside." And with that, he was gone, leaving Kenny to rub the stinging handprint on his chest.

The two walked to school in near silence, with only the soft breeze and cheerful birds singing their thanks to the good weather to accompany them. And, due to their schedules, they didn't see each other for the remainder of the morning.

* * *

The twangy bell inside the autoshop rang, telling the grease- and oil-covered students that their extended lunch had begun.

Kenny pushed the dolly he was lying on out from under a '78 Chevy and wiped his hands on his jeans (he had changed after math class, knowing that his parents would throw a fit if he came home with his "new" clothes covered in grim). Due to the lack of air conditioning in the muggy workshop, he had removed his shirt and now sat, half dressed, beside the car he lovingly called "Clunker".

"Comeeng?" he heard an obnoxiously loud, moderately accented voice call across the room, and looked up to see Christophe standing at the door, a smoke already hanging from his mouth. The two always smoked together while waiting for their friends to get out of class, Kenny waved his permission to go on without him' and the mercenary slipped away without another word.

Kenny washed the excess grime from his skin, and scrubbed as much as he could from his clothing, before making his way through the nearly-empty labyrinth of hallways towards Ms. Ula's advanced cooking class.

* * *

The bell that released the vast majority of SPH's constantly changing population rang, and the halls quickly filled with pushing, jostling bodies.

Butters was the last to leave his cooking class, as always, and he still had his Hello Kitty apron on over his baby blue hoodie and dark aqua jeans. Ms. Ula always let the timid young boy lock up before lunch, because Mr. Mackey (who had taken the job as guidance councilor at the small high school after Cartman managed to frighten off yet another one) put it, it would give him "a much needed sense of structure, mmkay?" He even had his own set of keys. The hallways had begun to empty as the students ran off to their favourite lunchtime hiding places, and now smelled of food with notable undertones of gym sweat.

"Butters!" the excited call startled the petite blonde' causing him to drop the keys and let out a small squeak that sounded vaguely like "gosh darnit". After stooping to retrieve the discarded keys' he searched for the source of the voice.

"K-Ken!" he stuttered, attempting to sound stern. "You scared me!" He stuck his bottom lip ever so slightly out as part of the act, but Kenny knew that his friend was fighting a smile. The two were almost always happy to see each other. "What brings you here? Don't ya normally w-wait in the courtyard?" he raised one professionally plucked eyebrow so high it almost disappeared into the floppy overhang of blonde hair.

"I've got some questions, Leo." The taller blonde responded, using his friend's real name instead of his nickname as the rest of their friends did. It was just one of those things that he did to set himself apart. "Some kinda… personal questions." He decided not to comment on Butters' worried expression as he took in Kenny's visible injuries.

"Alright…" concern registered on the sheepish teen's face, "l-let's go to the courtyard." He started walking and Kenny quickly fell into step beside him. "What's o-on your mind?"

"Love, actually," Kenny confessed quietly, picking at a rather stubborn oil spot on his shirt.

"Love?" Butters echoed, glancing sideways at the supposedly distracted boy. "What about it?" he asked finally, realizing that no explanation was going to be offered.

The now-fidgeting McCormick pretended to inspect the stains and holes at the hem of his shirt, now content to pull loose threads from a ragged tear that kept snagging itself on his weed-shaped belt buckle. "Well…" he began, choosing his words carefully. Or attempting to, at least. "Everything." He silently cursed himself for his inability to properly articulate his thoughts. "Like… _what does it feel like_?" With a sigh, he gave up trying to rephrase his question and looked at Butters with hopeful eyes.

"Well, h-how would I know, Ken? I'm only16! Y-you're older and you've been in… gosh, hundreds of relationships!" the lighter-haired blonde bumped his knuckles together once or twice before catching himself and stuffing his hands into his apron pockets.

Kenny stumbled for a moment, caught off guard by having the conversation turned around on him. "I'm only a coupla months older than you Butters – I just turned 17 in March. Plus, I've only been in…" he paused to mentally run through his list of exes, "thirty… nine relationships. Forty counting Red." He scolded himself for his less-than-masterful display, and part of him was taken back by just how many meaningless 'relationships' he had actually been in. "And you're always so happy and cheery," he continued, hoping to regain control of the discussion. "So in love with everything. With life. Plus, you're always reading those little romance novels. You've got to know _something_ about love." The taller blonde was beginning to remember just how much he hated talking.

Butters' face lit up at the older boy's compliments – Kenny sighed inwardly, thankful that his diversion had worked - and he nodded exuberantly at the mention of his much-loved books. "Yup," he agreed, slowing to a thoughtful head bob, "I su-suppose that I know a-at least a little…"

Kenny, having lapsed back into his preferred silence, nodded for the now-smiling boy to continue.

"From what I can tell," Butters began rather dramatically, sounding much like he had when he had pretended to be Inspector Butters as a child. "It starts out kinda like a funny tinglin'." He pointed to Kenny's stomach as they walked through the courtyard doorway, "right there, in your tummy. I-I think you feel a-all warm an' fuzzy inside." The sandy-blonde boy's hand went to his stomach, trying unsuccessfully to remember a time when he had felt the "tinglin'".

"But I real in the paper that it's just chemicals reactin' in your head." The small Stotch teen kept talking as they made their way to their favourite picnic table – the one under the old willow tree whose vine-like limbs were covered in a fairly new sprouting of thin leaves - and sat down. "Like when you put two different things together in Chemistry." He pulled his hands out of his pockets and mimed two chemicals coming together and expanding, complete with movie-style explosion sound affects.

"So… love is just… chemistry?" Kenny asked, sounding surprised and more than a little disappointed. Butters nodded in confirmation. The 17-year old made a small scoff-like noise in the back of his throat and decided that Chemistry was overrated.

* * *

"Books out!" Mr. Burnside, Kyle's 11th grade science teacher called over the after-lunch buzz of chatty students.

Digging through his bag, the redhead cursed when he was unable to find his Chem 2 textbook. After slipping out of the classroom with an apologetic nod to the rather frustrated-looking teacher' Kyle headed towards his locker.

Kyle's locker was at the end of a row of 5 that sat between a classroom-turned-storage-area and a janitors' closet, the door to which was slightly ajar. Uncharacteristically curious, the teen pushed the door open. What he saw almost made him vomit.

Clyde and Bebe's partially clothed bodies were tangled together on a heap of cleaning supplies and old rags. The curly-haired blonde's top was unbuttoned, revealing a flowery bra – something Kyle had seen many times before – and Clyde's even brighter red jacket lay discarded beside them. Their mouths were pressed together, though quiet moans escaped both, and their eyes were firmly shut.

Silently, Kyle closed the door and grabbed his textbook, deeming Chemistry his least favourite subject.

* * *

**Chemistry is bull, ain't it? :3 PLEASE REVIEW! PRETTY PLEASE? -Love you ever so much... KennyMcCormick1313.**


	8. There is Evil Afat er Afoot

**Because I feel bad for going so long without updating, this is my second update in just as many days. :3 Thank you muchly to the one reviewer of the last chapter - Sorry it took longer than 20 minutes to put up!**

* * *

**There Is Evil Afat… er… Afoot.**

Eric Cartman, King of all Things Douchebag, and future Nazi dictator in training, knew almost as much juicy dirt on the inhabitants of South Park as Kenny did. While Kenny got his information by being charming and genuinely trustworthy, Eric got his through snooping, stealing, bribing, and blackmailing.

Which was exactly what he had spent the week doing.

It was Saturday. A full week had passed since he had seen his blonde "super best friend"

Show up on the despicable Jew's doorstep looking particularly beat up. He had spent that whole night in one of the many trees outside Kyle's house (this particular one happened to have a wonderful view of the living room) watching as the moment he had been waiting for all month played out before him. It was the juiciest, dirtiest tidbit of information he could have ever hoped to find. Sure, he expected what he had seen from Kenny – he had caught the blatant sex addict playing for both teams on multiple occasions (he was watching, not stalking. And he was only watching the cheating pervert so he could catch him in the act and tell Red) – but he had only ever _hoped_ that Kyle was gay. A daywalking Jew was bad… but a _gay_ daywalking Jew? Pure. Gold.

He had, by some wonderful gift of God, remembered to bring his mother's old digital camera with him, and was now in possession of 23 highly incriminating photos of the two in beautifully compromising positions. He didn't care that they hadn't actually _done_ anything. He just cared that it _looked_ like they had. Maybe Red would finally leave that useless McCormick white trash piece of lower class shit and go for someone actually worthy of her time.

Someone like him.

Cartman had been keeping one eye on the redheaded party girl since she had run across the schoolyard wearing nothing but her underwear during a thunderstorm at the end their grade 8 year. She had the fiery attitude and mischievous tendencies that he loved so much. Plus she was a redhead and, according to Kenny's apparently true-to-life recap of Manswers, was more likely to "put out" than other girls. All of this, in Eric's twisted mind, added up to the perfect girl.

Immediately after taking the pictures, the noticeably-less-fat-than-before teen wanted to bust into the house and wave the proof in their shocked, faggy faces. But past experiences had taught Eric that Kenny McCormick (who had accurately been dubbed "Scrappy" by several teachers) would use his fists before asking questions if he felt that Cartman was getting too far out of line. And the brunette was certain that stalking-ahem- _following_ him, spying on him, and taking candid pictures of his faggy sexcapades was _**way**_ out of line.

Carefully, Eric removed his cherished 8 gigabyte USB stick from its port in the computer tower, having just put the wonderfully incriminating evidence on it in a file dubbed "Recon", along with subfiles filled with pictures of other "recon missions" (including Clyde and Bebe at the infamous party). He cradled the small device in his palm, a smile on his face and the fires of mischief dancing in his milk-chocolate eyes.

His commtech class had a project due soon and he knew exactly the pictures he would be using.

* * *

Kenny sat back in his old, ratty, beer-stinking Lazy Boy recliner, enjoying the calm of his relatively empty house. He, Kevin, and Karen were the only ones home; their parents were at the Redneck Games, a weekend long party for all the local trailer trash. As much as the two McCormick boys adored drinking, NASCAR, and simple-minded country girls in cut offs, they knew that they had to stay home with Karen. Besides, it game them a break from their parents' constant bickering and Stuart's continuous abuse.

Flicking on the old TV, the blonde settled further into his favourite chair, closing his eyes to the peaceful calm of the ancient house. Somewhere upstairs he heard his brother and sister laughing.

Just as Kenny was beginning to slip into his first good sleep all week, someone knocked on the door. With a sigh, he opened his eyes and stared at the cracked, yellowing ceiling, willing whomever it was to go away.

Seemingly in response to his wishing, there was another, far more impatient knock.

Angrily, he shoved himself out of his chair (which creaked in protest), then dragged his stocking feet all the way to the door. Upon opening the door and knocking a few 'burnt pumpkin' (_Why is everything in this goddamn house __**ORANGE**__?_) off, Kenny was greeted with an exuberant hug and a shrill voice calling his name.

Wrapping his arms around the whirlwind of red hair and strawberry scented body mist in response, he spun around until he was sure that Red's feet were lifted off the ground, then gradually slowed to stop, allowing her to steady herself before leaning back to look at her.

Keeping his arms draped loosely around her dainty waist, fingers resting in the pockets of her denim shorts, the tall blonde pulled his diminutive girlfriend closer, his hips pressing against her lower abdomen. Kenny's relationship with Red was a primarily physical one, though they were capable of simply sitting and talking.

"Y'know, Ken…" Red muttered, hazel eyes finding blue ones, "I worry about you." She let her arms fall from his shoulders to rest lightly against his chest. She could feel his heart beating through his shirt and stared at it, mesmerized. To her, being held by Kenny was comparable to being wrapped in a thick blanket; safe and warm.

Kenny, always a sucker when it came to girls and their watery doe eyes, trailed feather-light reassuring kisses along her jaw and neck. "I'm fine, Red." He purred into the hollow between her neck and shoulder, breathing in her sweet scent. Her smell made him hungry, and his groin stirred in response.

"KENNY!" She scolded, trying to push him away despite the surprisingly firm grip he kept on her. Now that the idea of sex had wormed its way into Kenny's head, he was having trouble focusing. "I'm serious!" her tone momentarily penetrated the fog that his sex drive had created, causing him to pull his head back and looking at her, remembering that he hadn't initially planned on having sex. "You've been acting weird lately." She placed a hand on the side of Kenny's face, which he leaned in to.

_I've been acting weird?_ He thought, deep blue eyes searching for any sign as to how he had been acting strangely. _And since when do you _prefer _talking over sex?_ He had chosen to date Red because she was a no-strings-attached kinda girl; someone who wasn't likely to fall for him. Sadly, she seemed to be doing just that. He sighed inwardly, hoping that she would put out at least once before he was forced to break it off.

Again determined to get into Red's pats, Kenny went back to placing quick kisses and occasional nip along her neck.

Once again, she pushed him away, frowning. "Not right now, Ken. Later." Then with a kiss on the cheek and an unbearably adorable wave, Red was gone.

* * *

Kyle laid in his bed, staring out his window at the twinkling stars that dotted the sky above South Park. He hadn't moved, save for going to the washroom, since getting home from school the night before. After seeing Clyde and Bebe dry humping in the janitor's closet, the quiet day walker (for he still denied having any freckles. Pale or otherwise.) felt like doing a whole shitload of nothing.

He felt horribly betrayed. He had known, in some part of his brain that was still capable of logical thought, that the e-mail had been a lie. The blonde she-devil had probably sent it in hopes that Kyle would be hurt enough to leave her so she could go on bumping uglies with the nasally shoe-shopper.

Is that what Clyde had that he didn't? The money to buy shoes? Sure, Kyle wasn't rich, but his job at the local indie music store got him enough money to function on. He had known that Bebe was vain and shallow, but he had expected her to at least attempt loyalty. Obviously that was too much to ask for. She was one of the "popular" girls; all perfect hair and manicures. He, on the other hand, was a hipster nobody. All skinny jeans and multicoloured belts. They obviously were not meant for each other.

Pulling the comforter over his head, Kyle felt around in the darkness for his cell phone. He wanted Kenny's opinion on the matter.

He sent a simple text first to see if his friend had his phone on him. _Ken?_

It was only a matter of seconds until the redhead's phone buzzed with a response.

_Ky :) _

Smiling at both the text and the relief of having someone to talk to, Kyle pressed the glowing green "call" button. It didn't get a chance to ring before Kenny picked it up.

"Hellllooo. Thank you for calling 1-800-Booty-Call. How may we, um, _service_ you?" Kyle could hear the blonde giggle slightly and realized that he had been drinking. After weighing the pros and cons, he concluded that a drunk friend was better than no friends at all.

"Do you offer relationship advice?" He asked, playing along with the tipsy teen's "hotline" game.

This seemed to Sober Kenny up a bit, and Kyle could hear a bottle being set down on a table. "Why yes, actually." There was some creaking on the other end of the line, and the self-pitying redhead guessed that the blonde was settling into his favourite chair. "What is it you need help with, Ky?"

"Well… on Wednesday… I caught Bebe and Clyde…" suddenly, his throat constricted and his eyes filled with tears. He had avoided discussing the subject at school for that very reason. Instead he chose to pretend that everything was fine, thankful for the acting classes his mother had forced him into taking. He cried silently so as not to alert Kenny to how bad he truly felt.

But Kenny knew. He knew how it felt to lose a constant figure in your life. Even if you didn't feel much towards the person, it still hurt. So he allowed his friend a few moments to cry. "Well…" he began, frowning into the mouthpiece; he was no good at working through actual relationship problems. When things got hairy, Kenny McCormick ran with his tail between his legs. "Have you talked to her about it?" his blue eyes wandered forlornly to the half-empty bottle of cheap liquor on the table.

"N-No…" Kyle admitted sheepishly, his silent sobs slowing to sniffles.

"Alright…" he thought through the alcohol induced haze, trying to remember the hundreds of chick flicks that his ex-girlfriends had forced him to watch, even though he had been too busy playing tonsil hockey to actually _see_ the films. "Then talk to her. I think it's best if you dump the cheating bitch-" _how many times have MY exes been told the very same thing by concerned friends?_ "-but it's up to you. First love is hart to let go of." God, he felt like suck a sap.

Kyle paused to think about what Kenny had said. He slowly began to realize that the poverty-stricken teen was right. He wasn't distraught over losing Bebe. He was distraught over losing what she represented. He was upset over losing his first love. And then suddenly, painfully, heartstoppingly, he realized something else. He had found a new love.

_His love for Kenny._

Once again finding himself fighting the urge to spill his little Jewish heart out to his friend, he began to giggle. It was a quiet giggle at first, then slowly grew into a full-blown laughing fit. He, Kyle Broflovski, was gay! Cartman had been right all the times that he had called the moody redhead a fag!

"Uh… Kyle?" Kenny held the phone a bit away from his ear as his friend dissolved into laughter. He feared that the overstressed Broflovski had finally snapped.

"I'm fine now, Ken. Thanks." And with that, he pressed the red button below the screen, ending the call. He had some thinking and prioritizing to do.

First, he was certain that the blonde with whom he had been conversing but moments ago saw him as a friend with benefits at best, a sex toy at worst. He knew that Kenny was seemingly incapable of loving anyone beyond his siblings. Second, he needed to break up with Bebe. He could barely handle one promiscuous blonde, let alone two.

Sighting, Kyle pulled the blanket off his head and flipped open his laptop, organizing his thoughts the only way he knew how – a list.

**1. **I love Kenny McCormick.

**2. **That makes me gay.

**3. **I'm still dating Bebe Stevens.

**4. **This sucks.

* * *

Cartman, who had recorded the entire conversation via a bug in Kenny's phone, snapped pictures of the typed list from his treetop vantage point outside Kyle's window.

He now has everything he needed to break Kenny and Red up and to ruin the life of one Kyle Broflovski.

* * *

**CARTMAN IS A NASTY LITTLE FUCK. ... If you hate him as much as I do, read another one of my stories called "Bodies". It's... well, it's something. **

**NOW. REVIEW YOUR LITTLE HEARTS OUT, MY FRIENDS! REVIEW AS THOUGH YOU'VE NEVER REVIEWED BEFORE!**

**(Also, as a side note. I seriously HATE the first two chapters of this fanfiction. I'm considering rewriting them completely. Opinions?)**


	9. In the Background

**Another chapter yay. Sorry it took so long, things are hectic here. :3 Enjoy.**

* * *

_**In The Background**_

Red started her Sunday morning the way most teens in South Park did – by skipping church.

Every Sunday her parents went, and every Sunday she refused to go. She was beginning to have second thoughts, however. Worrying that Hell was real and that she should start going to church again. After all, you only live once.

She stared in her mirror, running a brush through her slightly wavy red hair. Her hair was a source of pride for Red – even if it was the reason she had been given such an odd name. Either way, she adored her hair, as it matched her "fiery" personality. She knew it caught other people's attention, too, and the coy girl was willing to bet that it was what had bagged her Kenny McCormick.

_Ah, Kenny._

Even though they had only been together for less than a month, red was certain that she wanted to be the future Mrs. McCormick. She didn't originally plan on falling in love with the blonde boy in the orange sweater. In fact, she had planned on doing the exact opposite. She had heard so many different things from so many different people about Kenny – ranging from his apparent sex addiction to that one thing he could do with his tongue… a shiver wormed it's way down the redhead's spine just thinking about it. He was supposed to be the guy that made her hate men. An object to focus all of her anger at after a particularly nasty breakup.

But then they actually started dating and Red discovered so many good things about the seemingly overconfident teen, that she found it hard to believe all of the rumours she had heard… Except that one about his tongue. She KNEW that as true.

She found out that even if he sleeps around when he's single, he's actually fiercely loyal when in a relationship. She also frequently played witness to both him and Kevin protecting and caring for their little sister. She saw the side of Kenny that held his girlfriend when she was scared, or gave reassuring "shh"ings when she was upset, the side that could quote Romeo and Juliet, and (even though no one believed her when she mentioned it) the side that was almost an intellectual match to Kyle Broflovski. And his art. Oh, his art. It was perhaps the most beautiful thing Red had ever seen. He seemed so self-assured when he scratched the pencil across the paper, so off in his own world. Thinking about it brought a smile to the petite girl's face.

With a sigh, Red set her brush down and danced across her room to her plain, yet overly plush, bed and flopped down. Sharing at her plain white ceiling, the still-drowsy red head realised that she had never seen the ceiling that her boyfriend woke up to every morning. She had never even seen his bedroom at all – he had never let her.

Now determined, Red hopped off her bed and got ready. She was _going_ to see Kenny's room.

* * *

Just as Red was leaving her house, Cartman was across town doing the exact same thing.

He had thrown the pictures together in a second-rate slideshow with "Shut Up and Sleep with Me" playing in the background as a sort of twisted little joke, and had just finished putting it on his iPod (a brand new iPod touch with 32 gigs of space, thank you very much). He hoped that he could catch Red during a friendly moment and show her the video. In his mind, the slideshow would cause her to become distraught, and he would be there to comfort her and tell her how stupid Kenny was for doing that to her. Sure, it was a flawed plan – it involved hurting Red which (as much as Cartman refused to admit it) was _**NOT**_ something he wanted to do.

Cartman readjusted his oversized clothing (he had recently lost a considerable amount of weight in an effort to impress the girl, and had yet to actually get fitting attire) and clambered onto his bike. He was going to move onto the next part of his plan.

Breaking Red and Kenny up.

* * *

Bebe laid in Clyde's bed, enjoying the post sex buzz that hung in the air.

She had the sheet pulled up to her collarbone, covering her otherwise naked body as Clyde pulled on his boxers and got up.

"Coffee?" he asked, his voice sounding far less nasally. It always did that after sex, and in some part of Bebe's mind, she wondered why.

Bebe nodded lazily and closed her eyes, listening as Clyde's iPod speakers sang to her with Eminem's voice. She knew she should probably feel bad about what she was doing, especially because it was behind Kyle's back, but she _needed_ him to break up with her. She had been trying to get him to. Really, she had. It's not _her_ fault that _he_ can't take a hint. Sure, she planned on breaking up with him… it just seemed like a whole lot of work.

Clyde came back with a coffee – two creams, sugar on the side – just as Cartman was biking up the hill at the end of his street.

"Bebe," Clyde sat on the edge of the messy bed beside the blonde girl, and held the small tray containing her coffee as she sat up, the blanket slipping down to rest on her lap.

"Yes?" she took the steaming drink and began to add dainty spoonfuls of sugar. Clyde wasn't one for talking normally, and was even less likely to carry on a conversation after sex. Him instigating the dialogue was rare indeed.

"I think you need to break up with Kyle." That was it. Clyde's simple opinion. Bebe had come to expect this from him; short and to the point statements. He stared at her with his muddy-brown eyes until she gave in and grabbed her phone, impatiently pressing the "NEW MESSAGE" button.

* * *

Stan Marsh sat beside Wendy' their fingers intertwined, her head resting on his shoulder while the watched the still-rising sun slowly reach to touch every building in South Park.

It was something they did at least once a week every week, and Wendy said it made their relationship stronger. They had been sitting on the highest hill in down since 6 that morning, not moving, not talking, simply… being. It was something that Stan looked forward to, something that made him happy. Since getting back together at the end of 7th grade, the two had been utterly inseparable. Of course Stan took time out for his friends, and Wendy for hers, but they always made time for each other. It was exactly what the raven-haired boy needed when his parents separated for the third, and seemingly final, time (his father had moved to Canada in search of a "new life"). Living with just his mom was hard, and it became even harder when Shelly came to visit.

Sighing, he gently rested his head on top of hers. He didn't care how lame it was, or how mush his friends ragged on him for being "pussy whipped". Wendy was just something he needed now.

Stan closed his eyes and let himself get lost in the moment as Bebe clicked "SEND" from her spot on Clyde's bed.

* * *

Red was walking across the railroad tracks that split lower and middle classes of South Park in a vivid small-town stereotype just as Cartman was biking around the corner behind her.

"Red!" the mildly rotund teen shouted, huffing from the exertion of biking all the way across town, only to find she wasn't home. He had then spent the next half hour searching the tiny mountain town for her. "RED!"

Turning around, the almost perpetual smile dropped from her face and was replaced by a look of utter repugnance. "Fuck off, Eric!" she yelled, whipping back around and quickening her pace. Cartman had been after her for years, and it had gotten really bad since she had started dating Kenny. She was almost certain that the desperate creep was stalking her boyfriend.

With a grunt and an extra burst of speed, he pedaled up beside her. "Seriously, Red!" the brunette gasped and wheezed from the amount of biking he had done. "Please…. AH! Cramp!… Red! Stop!" he continued to gasp and huff, his face slowly turning redder. "Just one… Jesus Christ… second!" he let out a quiet "thank the lord" when she stopped and turned to him, hazel eyes smoldering with hatred.

"Whatever it is, say it quick. Kenny is one phone call and a 30 second sprint away, and I'm more than half-tempted to tell him you're stalking me again." She put one hand on her hip and tapped her foot impatiently.

"I know, I know. I –uh, _Hfff, _Christ – I've been goin' 'bout this the wrong way. But just listen to me." He fished through his pockets for his iPod, trying to ignore the disapproving glare that the object of his affection currently had focused on him. With a not-so-quiet "AH-HA!", he pulled it out and quickly tapped on the video icon. "Here! Watch this!" he thrust the device into her face and was mildly surprised when she didn't swat it away.

Red watched the slideshow in a state of quiet disbelief. She had heard whispers of Kenny's questionable sexuality – everyone had – but she never really took it into account. He definitely seemed straight when she was around. She had also heard rumours of his spotty track record when it came to commitment, but she had assumed that they were just rumours. She never thought that Kenny would cheat on her. Especially not with a boy. _Extra_ especially not with Kyle.

"I-is this a joke, fatass?" Red demanded, attempting to sound stern. She ignored it when her voice cracked and the tears that had welled up in her eyes began to roll down her cheeks, smearing the make up she had put on just for her boyfriend.

It was a widely known fact that Eric Cartman was terrified to death of crying girls.

He hopped off his bike and let it fall to the ground as he stuffed his iPod into his pocket. "No! I-it's real. I took the pictures just to show you! OH! Shit! P-please stop." Her tears began to flow freely and she hiccupped in an attempt to stem the sobs. His hands hovered near her shoulder, unsure of how to comfort her. Silently, he cursed himself for being the cause.

"Why would you do that?" her voice had become a pained whisper, but she didn't pull away. Eric saw it as a form of encouragement, and placed a hand on her arm, rubbing it gently in an attempt to calm her.

"I thought you needed to know…" he mumbled in awe of being able to touch Red. "I didn't think it was right that he did that." He stopped rubbing her arm and just let his hand rest there. All he could do was just stare at the point of contact.

There was a long pause before Red's shoulders stopped shaking and she felt able to speak again. "Cartman?" her voice was mildly shaky, and she felt as though she hadn't spoken in years.

He looked back to her face, barely noticing the black trails that her running mascara left, or the stray hairs that stuck to the moisture left behind by her tears. He could only focus on her eyes. Some might say that her eyes looked swampy, or muddy, but Cartman saw them for what they really were. Clear, beautiful blends of brown and green. They still glistened with unshed tears. He wished that he could reach up and wipe them away, and had the clench his fist to prevent him from doing just that. "Yeah?" he breathed, afraid that if he spoke too loudly, or breathed too heavily, that the moment would shatter.

"I… need to do some thinking…" she wrapped her arms around her stomach and bit her lip. I'll see you later…" she took a couple of steps back and turned to walk away.

"Kay…" Cartman could practically feel his chance with her slipping away. "I'll, uh, I'll se you later." He slowly picked his bike up off the ground and watched her continue, albeit rather shakily, up the street. He hoped she was headed towards the decrepit park at the end of the shabby cul-de-sac instead of going to the McCormicks'. He really wasn't in the mood to have his ass handed to him by a poverty-stricken teen who had learned to fight the hard. Just in case, Cartman climbed onto his bike and pedaled in the opposite direction. He didn't plan on heading home; he needed to clear his mind as much as Red did.

* * *

Kyle had spent the last half hour at war with himself over a simple text from Bebe.

_Im doing clyde. Its ovr. byyyyeeeeee. :)_

He was moderately pleased with having her knock a point off of his list for him, but she did it over _text. _Who dumps someone over _text?_ Especially like _THAT?_

…. And, seriously… who would do _Clyde?_

Kyle supposed that it didn't matter all that much. It was just Bebe after all. He didn't expect her to stay faithful as long as she did. He idly wondered if it was a record for her as he looked over at his desk where both Kenny and Bebe's gifts sat.

The industrious teen had turned 17 about a week ago, and he had gotten a whole mixture of gifts. Stan gave him copies of all 3 Jackass films. Tweek made sure that he got the best cup of coffee that Tweak Bros. Coffee had ever produced, and Craig actually didn't spit in it, which Kyle supposed was his gift. Cartman had given him a book called "Fight the Star: Combating the Jew Within" (which Kyle had promptly tossed in the trash). Butters had given him a sketchbook and an easy step-by-step guide to drawing (which didn't help at all, considering he still couldn't draw a goddamn circle).

But his favourite gifts were the ones from Bebe and Kenny.

Bebe had gotten him an elegant fountain pen with his name engraved on the side in flowing gold script. The pen itself was an astonishing shade of green. It was emerald, forest, and seafoam all rolled into one. He knew that the pen had to have cost a mind-numbing amount of money, but the best part was the small heart-shaped ruby set into the side. It was a comparatively minute detail, but it just made everything perfect.

Kenny didn't _get_ Kyle a gift. He _made_ him one. On top of a neat pile of books on the corner of Kyle's desk sat a Star of David that had obviously been handmade. Each piece had been bent, cut, then welded together and ground down until it was smooth. The calculating redhead guessed that weighed about 5 pounds, and he hoped to one day hang it on his wall. … Or perhaps put in on a shelf… there was no way that giant hunk of metal was going to stay attached the wall. He didn't know what made the simple gift special, but it was by far his most prized possession.

"KYLE!" Sheila shouted up from the bottom of the stairs, "breakfast!"

With a groan, Kyle pulled himself up off his bed and out the door. With one final look at his gifts, he flicked of the lights and jogged downstairs.]


	10. Happy Birthday, Little Sis

**Whew! Sorry it's up so late... like, really sorry. I feel like such an ass. Anywways, all the problems preventing the posting have been hammered out, and I'm not moving myself from this chair until I have another chapter typed. Anywhooooo... Enjoy!**

* * *

_**Happy Birthday, Little Sis**_

Kenny hated his job at the convenience store… he really did.

Every school night from 7 till 12, he stood behind that stupid fucking counter and dealt with assholes and drunks. He sold smokes, lotto tickets, chocolate bars, and occasionally pumped gas for the odd elderly nighthawk. Every so often, he would play the shoulder to cry on for some poor sap that lost his wife or play hero and stop a would-be robber. It had even cost him his life once.

But he needed the job to support both himself and his siblings. Besides, when he took the late shifts, he got to meet some interesting people.

Monday nights were usually among the most interesting. Stoners stocking up on munchies for the week. Girls coming in for a chocolaty little pick-me-up after a bad weekend. Some folks also came in because the dopey little store was known for selling smokes and booze to minors, especially when the "amiable blond with the blue eyes" was working. Kenny knew what it was like to _really_ need an alcohol or nicotine fix, so he had no problems selling it. Plus, he usually got tips, and any pocketable change was a bonus.

For the next two days, Kenny had opted to take double shifts, meaning that he would get little-to-no-sleep until Wednesday. Sure, he could sleep through his classes, especially math and English, but his teachers all had pesky habits of waking him up.

Glaring at the clock on the wall, Kenny willed the time to go faster. His _second_ shift was about an hour from being over, and he still had to shower in the staff bath, run home, see Karen off to school, then jog the half hour to his own school because the bus would be long gone, knowing his luck. Fucking bus. At 4 AM on a Tuesday morning, the last thing Kenny wanted to do was think about school.

As the overtired teen propped his feet on the dingy counter from his less-than-comfy folding chair, yet another of South Park's homeless stumbled through the door and vomited on the cracked tiles.

Scratch that, Kenny thought as he reached for the mop with a sigh. _THIS _was the last thing he wanted to do.

* * *

Tuesday passed much the way Monday had for Kenny. A couple of drunks passed out on the floor, the odd puke puddle, and of course a handful of minors looking for their drugs of choice.

But at $10 an hour, it was more than worth it.

Kenny felt overly proud of himself as well as so exhausted he could cry as he tidied up in his last 20 minutes of work for the day (he had taken Wednesday night off). His wallet was stuffed full of $239.85 in under-the-table pay and tips.

One of Kenny's coworkers came in for his shifts, and after a quick shower, the blonde grabbed a "fresh-baked" cinnabun wand was out the door.

By the time Kenny made it home, he was wheezing like a man four times his age. After smoking (both cigarettes and weed) every day for almost 8 years, he didn't expect any less. As quietly as possible, he snuck in through the garage door and up to his room, making sure to avoid the extra-creaky floorboards. He flipped open his phone and smiled – 6:45. Karen would be up in 15 minutes. He set the bun on his old cluttered desk, flopped onto his mattress, and waited.

An hour later, all 3 McCormick children were standing at the bus stop. Karen nibbled away at the cinnamon bun while both of her brothers smoked.

June 8th was one of the few days a year that both Kenny and Kevin walked their sister to the bus stop, and probably the only time they ever really waited with her. Usually they dropped her off with her friends and left for either a day of school or a day of sleeping, depending on which boy you're asking. But June 8th was different. June 8th was Karen McCormick's birthday.

"11, huh?" Kenny asked as Karen jumped onto Kevin's back.

"YUP!" She shouted, wrapping her long arms around her eldest brother. "I'm almost as old as both of you!" the normally withdrawn girl was more than excited, it was a combination of breakfast (which she rarely got), the actual date, and having both of her brothers with her.

Before the lanky blonde could reply, a familiar voice shouted "hey", followed by the thumping of footsteps on the sidewalk. Three sets of piercing blue eyes turned toward the noise at once, and three smiles appeared at the same time.

There, running up the sidewalk, was Ike Broflovski, with his brother walking calmly behind him. Karen jumped off Kevin's back and met the black haired youth part way up the sidewalks in a giggle-filled embrace. The three boys smiled fondly as their little siblings chatted excitedly. Ike handed Karen a cupcake and the two sat on the curb to eat it. With a sly, knowing smile at the still-approaching redhead, Kevin bid Kenny farewell and slipped away.

"Bebe dumped me." Kyle shrugged as he stood beside Kenny, his orange scarf shifting as his shoulders heaved. "She said me a text that said she was 'doing Clyde' and that it was over between us. Can't say I'm surprised, though." The redhead shrugged again and smoothed some wrinkles in his top. "But it doesn't really matter.… Say, how are things with Red?" Kyle stopped his steady stream of nervous chatter and looked up a Kenny, who had been watching the smaller teen with an amused twinkle in his eye.

"Red?" he echoed, stuffing his hands into his shorts pockets. "She's been ignoring me lately, actually." The simple statement contained no emotion – like a comment on the weather. Kenny looked up the road to see the familiar old school bus chugging its way up the street towards them. He leaned down, kissed the top of Karen's head, and wished her a happy birthday before walking towards yet another bus stop with Kyle. "It's nothing major." The uninterested teen yawned and hoofed a pebble out of his way.

Kyle, who had just realized that he was as close to alone with Kenny as he had been since the blonde's over-enthusiastic display of… affection? Lust?... felt a little flustered. "Well… maybe you should talk to her?" he suggested, casting sidelong glances at his friend. "And if that doesn't work, we can think of something in art."

"Not going to school." The blonde corrected, that goddamn mischievous spark flashing in his eyes as he pulled out a Native smoke and an old Bic lighter. It was that kind of look that made Kyle want to both strip and pull his sweater closer at the same time. _Damn teenage hormones…_

"What do you mean, 'not going to school'?" the smaller boy spat, trying to control the unwelcomed bulge now pressing against his skinnies by doing the best imitation of his mother that he could muster. "School's important, Kenny." Still indifferent, Kenny just shrugged, indicating his verbal role in the conversation was over. "Could you at least tell me _why_ you're not going to school?" Chancing a full-on look at Kenny, Kyle realized the other teen had been watching _him_ for a while. The look seemed so calculating, so… analytical. It made his (so totally not) freckled skin crawl.

Kenny merely smiled, and the creepy feeling that had Kyle on edge not 10 seconds prior disappeared. "It's Karen's birthday. I've been working doubles to get her something. I even showered at work, dude." He ran the hand that wasn't holding his cigarette through his hair by way of emphasis and Kyle laughed. "And as for school being important? In the immortal words of one of my all-time favourite lead singer slash guitarists… 'School is practice for the future. Practice makes perfect. Nobody's perfect… so why practice?'" Oh, how Kyle loved and loathed that shit-eating grin.

"So _that's _why you've been clean these last few days?" he snorted, giving Kenny a playful shove.

The blonde laughed and bumped Kyle in return. "Ow!" he rubbed his upper thigh where he had hit Kyle. "You have _the BONIEST_ fucking hip."

In response, the grinning redhead pointed towards a small collection of multi-coloured studded belts resting loosely on the accused hip. "That, and I know how to choose stylish yet practical accessories." Kyle almost walked straight into the bus stop sign, causing Kenny to burst out in that deep, booming laughter that always ended with one sharp, barking cough to which Kyle would say "smokers' lung".

"Hey…" Kenny leaned against the signpost, regarding Kyle with one of those looks that says he has an idea the petite redhead probably won't like. The glint in his eye slowly wormed its way down to his mouth and tugged his lips up into one of those dreaded Cheshire cat smiles. This definitely was not good for the smaller boy. "Skip with me." It was more of a command than a question, warranting a disapproving scoff from his friend.

"'Skip with you'?" He snapped, orange hair moving slightly in the calm breeze. The familiar red tint began to colour his ears, and Kenny settled in for a long-winded rant. "Why would I skip a perfectly fine day of classes? You know how my parents feel about that. You know how _I_ feel about that! I mean, sure, I don't have any tests today, or any projects due… but I might miss something important." The blonde smiled his sly grin once more as Kyle slowly talked himself out of going to school without even realizing it. "But Bebe and Clyde are at school… and I've been so stressed lately and-" he stopped abruptly and looked up at that goddamn smirking face. "You just let me convince myself to skip with you." Kenny simply continued to smile and nodded. "Never let someone call you stupid, McCormick." Not waiting for a response, Kyle started walking towards the mall, not bothering to acknowledge Kenny as he fell into step beside him.

* * *

The two had worked their way through the vast majority of the mall and had nothing to show save for tired legs and empty stomachs. Kyle was starting to get antsy.

"We're not finding anything, Ken." He huffed for what must have been the 22th time in the last hour. "Why don't we just… I dunno… go somewhere else?"| He jogged to catch up to Kenny, who had kept up his pace.

"We'll find something, Ky." The blonde's saint-like patience was beginning to wear out, and his ever-present sex drive had begun to gnaw at the back of his mind.

Kyle ran his hands through his hair and scratched the back of his head. "What kinds of things does she like?" he ventured, curious green eyes scanning lightly-tanned features, noting the small signs of tension. Clenched jaw, slightly furrowed brow, and that look in his eye that said his mind was racing.

At first, only silence answered Kyle's question as Kenny thought. "Stuffed toys. Animals, pillows, sweaters that are too big for her, and sweets." He counted each item on his fingers as he spoke, wagging his fingers at his friend when he was finished.

"Then get her one of those pillow pets, a snuggie, and a bag of candy." The redhead shrugged as he stared through a shop window.

"Don't you have to get the first two over the phone?" the straw-haired boy asked, confusion written clearly across his face.

"Now there's someplace in here that sells that stuff," pulling a few curls back into place, he turned back to Kenny, who had leaned against a wall and was now staring at the ceiling.

"'As Seen on TV'?"

"Indeed."

* * *

"That store was fucking awesome, Kyle." Kenny admitted as he tied the final bow on Karen's gifts. "And this weed?" he pointed the joint in Kyle's direction, "is even better." He took another drag of the sweet drug and held it out to his friend.

In response, the recoiling Jew tightened his scarf over his nose and mouth. "You kidding, dude?" he demanded, his voice muffled by the orange fabric, causing Kenny to giggle at the role reversal. "What?" he snapped, feeling absolutely not even the tiniest bit high. Nope. Not at all.

Still giggling, the blonde wagged the joint at Kyle. "You. You've got-" snort "-your voice. Muffled. By-" snort "-orange!" he fell back onto a pile of dirty clothes and smiled, his faded Metallica shirt riding up to expose pale, slightly bruised, stomach. "It's like when we were younger. 'Cept… you're me… so that means… I'm you. Holy shit." He paused to take another long puff. "I just blew my own mind."

Feeling more than a little irritated (and still absolutely not stoned in the slightest), Kyle threw a suspiciously crunchy wad of clothing at the snickering stoner. "You are not me. I wouldn't sit there killing my brain cells."

"Yet here you are."

"… Shut up."

A long stretch of smoke-filled silence passed before Kenny took a final drag of the joint and snuffed it out against his grubby converse. With a sigh and a stretch, he looked over at Kyle, who had wrapped his scarf around his entire head (safe for a small gap over his nose and mouth that went unnoticed by the stoned blonde), and smiled. "You're high, aren't you Kyle?" he purred, rolling onto his stomach. When all he got was a groan in response, he laughed. "Kylie's stoned, Kylie's stoned." He chanted as he crawled the boy, who had opted to lounge on his bed.

"I might be a little stoned…" he conceded, pulling the scarf away from his eyes in time to see a blonde mop crawling across the squalid room. "You try to rape me again and I'll kick you so hard in the balls that you'll piss blood." As emphasis, the young Hebrew one shoe-clad foot and pointed it at the prowling teen.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Kenny pinned Kyle's legs and slowly began to crawl up the redhead, his eyes cloudy with drug haze and lust.

"Wait a sec! Whoa! Hey! H-he-hey!" Blue eyes focused on now-entirely uncovered green ones as the depraved teen leisurely crept up the increasingly alarmed Broflovski.

"Now, now…" he cooed, placing kisses along his inner thigh. He grabbed both of the redhead's wrists in one hand and slowly pushed them above his squirming friend's mop of ginger locks. "Weed makes me horny~" he whispered, using his free hand to unwind the scarf and toss it on the floor.

"E-everything makes you horny!" Kyle snapped, his heart hammering against his ribs, and some more… _sensitive_ parts straining against his jeans. He wanted Kenny's heart, not his body (even though it is one _Helluva_ body), and this certainly was not how he was going to get it. He wanted to be emotionally important to the blonde who was currently kissing hi – Holly sweet Moses Kenny McCormick was kissing him. He gasped at the sudden realization – or, it would've been a gasp if his mouth hadn't been captured by Kenny's. As it stood, the blonde used it as an opportunity to slip his tongue into his stunned friend's mouth. He ran it over every surface he could – teeth and flesh no longer safe from his exploration.

Kenny only pulled back when he heard voices on the main floor. "Karen and Kevin are home," he breathed, licking the side of Kyle's face and nipping his earlobe. Pushing himself up off the bed, he looked at the redhead. "Coming?" he asked, grabbing the presents and heading for the door.

The flustered teen simply flipped him off and stood up. "I'll be down in a bit, dickhole." He snarled, picking up his scarf. Kenny just laughed and headed downstairs. _Fucking prick…_ Kyle seethed, fixing himself in the smudged and cracked mirror, _I'm not his goddamn girlfriend._ He traced the spiderweb of cracks from its centre – probably caused by a bottle or a fist. _Or Kenny's head…_ Hoping to shake the horrible image from his mind, Kyle joined the McCormicks downstairs to celebrate Karen's birthday.

* * *

**I actually love this chapter so much it hurts. I can't not laugh when I read "Holy shit I just blew my own mind". It's impossible for me.**

**REVIEW PLEASE! (even though I no longer deserve it for my shitastic updating) OH! OHOHOHOHOHOHOH!~**

**THIS CHAPTER IS DEDICATED TO REVIEWER #40 - ylraM**


	11. Coming Clean

**Well, I said I wasn't moving from my seat until I had another chapter... but I got mildly distracted. Mildly. So... Here is Chapter 11 (10, actually.)! Entitled "Coming Clean"... and not just because that's the song (by Green Day) that just started playing.**

* * *

Eric Cartman was a very determined young man, and he was _NOT_ good with waiting…. But he had absolutely NO idea what to do about Red. He had learned a couple of years ago that if you pushed her too hard, she was just as likely to kick your ass as Kenny.

Which is why he almost choked on his mini cream cake when his phone buzzed with a message from her.

_Tweak Bros. Coffee. 20 mins._

Cartman felt like he could puke his heart up as he ran out of the house and hopped on his bike.

Today was his day.

* * *

Red drummed her fingers against her 6th cup of Tweak's Best as she waited for Eric.

She had debated over contacting him all week, but had only managed to convince herself in the last few minutes. Every day she thought about the video he had shown her, and every day it ate at her.

Of _course_ she had heard the rumours about Kenny's inability to keep it in his pants long enough to finish a conversation – hell, she had witnessed his sex drive at work – but she had always thought he was a decent guy. He treated her right, never forced her to do anything she wasn't willing to do. And he just seemed so _loyal_. It was definitely a shock to her system when she saw the slideshow of Kenny and Kyle's dirty little secret. She couldn't believe that Kyle of all people was the other guilty party. He had a girlfriend! Okay… they had been fighting and Bebe _was_ bumping uglies with Clyde… but that is so totally besides the point! Her thoughts weighing heavily on her mind, Red brought her coffee up to her lips and took a dainty gulp. She was _so_ not looking forwards to this.

Then the bell over the door just _HAS_ to ding.

She didn't even have to look up to see who it is.

Eric slid into the seat across from her and simply stared, his favourite blue and yellow slouchy hanging off the back of his head. He was silent – for the most part. His breath was slightly ragged from his hasty bike ride.

"Thanks…" Red muttered, still not looking up from her steadily-cooling drink.

Eric shrugged and leaned back in his chair, attempting to feign nonchalance. "I just…. Y'know. Wanted to help. Kenny really shouldn't be… be messing around with you." He looked everywhere he could but at the petite redhead in front of him.

"I know," she finally sighed, looking up at him. "It's just hard to hear… see. Acknowledge. I thought Ken was different than all those other assholes." A small sniffle escaped as she tried to quell the tears.

"Heh-hey now…" Eric bit his lip and looked around the near-empty coffee shop. The only other people were Tweek and Craig, the former sitting on the counter while the latter relayed some apparently funny story in his flat monotone as the blonde let out stuttering laughter occasionally. "I don't want to see you cry, Red." He finally mumbled, looking down. "That's the whole point of…" his hand twirled about as he attempted to think of something. "This. All of this."

Startled, Red sniffed once more before the tears stopped. "What?" she asked, halfway between incredulous and terrified. Was she hearing things? Or did Eric Cartman _really_ say that?

"I said I showed you this to stop you from getting hurt." He spaced each word out carefully, thinking each through before he chose it.

There was a long silence from Red, and Eric had to glance at her occasionally to make sure she was still sitting across from him. She was staring down at the room-temperature mug of caffeine. Her expression was hard to read, and the chestnut-eyed teen could tell she was worrying the inside of her cheek with her molars. Slowly, she looked back up at him, her eyes still showing a thin film of tears, but her expression one of stony resolution. "I'm going to break it off with Kenny." She whispered, reaching out one hand to gently rest it on top of Eric's. "And when I do, I'm going to march right back here," she gently patted the back of his hand, a timid smile beginning to show. "To you. And I'm going to pour my heart out. I'm going to cry, scream, and eat all of your cheesy poofs, fudgy tots, and ice cream sandwiches." Finally the grin dissolved into laughter, and Eric is dragged along with it.

_I did it…_ he thought as he laughed along with his crush, her hand still on his. _I really fucking did it._

* * *

Kyle sat on his bed, his lap top resting on his thighs, attempting to think of something to write. He had taken to writing a sort of journal since this whole Kenny fiasco started, hoping it would help to ease his mind.

It didn't.

He drummed his fingers against the keys, producing random sequences of numbers and letters, before realizing it was utterly useless. He frowned deeply at the blank document.

Then a terribly wonderful idea struck him.

He should _come out._

After clearing the jumble of useless characters, Kyle began to type furiously.

_I'm gay._

_I'm gayer than gay._

_I had thought I was straight for the longest time… and now that I look back, I realize that I was NOT happy. I was not happy at all. _

_With Bebe, all we did was argue. We snapped at each other, and she ran around behind my back. And… come to think of it… Bebe is the only girl I've ever been involved with._

_She's blonde._

_She has blue eyes._

_And she is a total slut (I'm sorry, Bebe. But it's true.)_

_So I never really loved_ her_ anyways._

_I loved the other blonde haired blue-eyed tramp. _

_Yes, his hair is darker. More sandy-straw-golden-sunrays-of-Moses. But it's still blonde._

_Of course his eyes are bluer. More peacock-blue-with-cerulean-and-navy-specks._

_But they're still blue._

_And… well… we know he's a tramp. He has a girlfriend yet he chose to… what did he choose to do? It sounds less romantic if I say "he chose to bend me over in my living room and rail me when my parents and brother were out". So I'll just say he chose… me. Right? Oi vey. … y'know, I've never actually said that and it sounds so very stereotypical. And I am not a stereotype. … Even if I do act… queerer than a clockwork orange. That movie… is the strangest thing._

_Focus, Kyle. Focus._

_Mom and Dad don't know I'm gay._

_I should tell them._

…_. Ike first._

Carefully, he closed his laptop and let out a shaky breath; he was about to do the most potentially life-changing thing he had ever done.

* * *

He knocked on his little brother's door, and waited for the quiet "come in" before entering.

Ike sat much the way Kyle had been sitting moments ago. In place of a laptop, he held a pencil and a sketchbook. _Can EVERYONE draw but me?_ The redhead silently asked, fighting the urge to frown. "Mind if I sit down…?" the older boy quirked an eyebrow as he watched his brother.

Ike simply nodded, his brows furrowed together as he furiously scratched away at the paper.

Kyle carefully lowered himself onto the bed beside his brother. He chose his words carefully and chewed his bottom lip as he did so. "Ike…" he began, wondering if he was doing the right thing, "have you ever heard of… or wondered about… two people of the same gender… loving each other as much as mom and dad do…?" he ran his hands through his hair, grumbling as his finger caught a curl.

This had the young Canadian curious. He set his art supplies down and shifted to face his brother. "Of course I've heard about people like that, Kyle. Homosexuals. Like Mr. Garrison and Mr. Slave. Big Gay Al. Stan's dog, Sparky. Craig and Tweek." He tilted his head slightly to one side, his wispy black hair shifting. "Why?"

Kyle chewed his lip even harder, and his mouth suddenly filled with the coppery tang of blood. Wincing, he resolved to take up a new nervous habit. "Well… what do you think about it? Do you find it… unnatural?" Sometimes Kyle forgot how much of an intellectual his younger sibling was, and how much he really _knew_.

"Unnatural?" Ike echoed, looking more thoughtful than any 11 year old has any right to look. "Well, look at it this way. We see the way the lion bites the zebra's neck as unnatural, right?" Kyle nodded slowly, remembering how the girls screamed when they watched the nature documentary in class. "But to the lion, and perhaps even the zebra, it's perfectly acceptable." Another slow nod. "Then, really, who is anyone to say what's natural or unnatural about another?"

A small smile settled onto the redhead's face as he looked down at his brother. "I never thought about it that way, Ike." He admitted, scratching his head. "So it doesn't bug you? Gay people, I mean."

"Not in the slightest. In fact, I think Tweek and Craig… well… maybe not Craig… but Tweek is the nicest person I know! Well… not the nicest… but you know what I mean." He frowned, looking mildly confused. "What's with the sudden quizathon?"

"Made up words are stupid and you know it."

"Avoiding the question."

"True." Kyle conceded, scratching his head yet again as he attempted to avoid chewing his lip. "It's just that… well…" _Just say it!_ A small voice (which sounded worryingly similar to Kenny) snapped from the back of his mind. One deep breath later, Kyle spewed "I'mgayandIthinkI'minlovewithKenny."

Ike's frown deepened and he stared intently at his brother. "Say that again, Kyle? Slower."

Another deep breath. "I'm gay. And I think… I may have feelings for Kenny."

"That's not what you said."

"Yes. It is."

"No. I distinctly heard 'and I think I'm in love with Kenny'."

"So you heard me?" Irritation began to inch its way into Kyle's voice.

"Obviously," Ike responded, levelheaded. "But I don't know if _you_ heard you."

"What?" Confusion swiftly replaced the irritation.

"Just think about it." Ike picked his artwork back up, signaling the end of the conversation,. Kyle got up and wandered out of the room in a bit of a daze. Unaware of where his feet were leading him, he simply went with them.

Big mistake.

* * *

"It's just a phase, Kyle!" A piercing female voice shrieked as the redhead hurriedly stuff clothes into a backpack. "Come back here and apologize for lying, Kyle!"

"I'm not lying!" he spat back, throwing the back over his shoulder. "You're eleven-year-old son accepted it, so why can't you?" He ran down the stairs, taking several at once, and made a mad dash to the front door.

"He's just a boy, Kyle." Gerald, ever the soft-spoken one, commented from the kitchen doorway. "They're young and impressionable, you know."

"Who are you to talk?" The redhead screamed at him, pent-up anger finally pouring out. "I know about that one time with you and Mr. Marsh. Don't even _try_ to tell me it's wrong." Before the tears stinging his eyes fell, he was out the door.

* * *

The speakers boomed with music, everyone dancing to the mesmerizing beats.

"_I'm gonna chase this whiskey with Patron_

_I wanna girl on my lap with a Jagerbomb_

_I'm comin' in hot, ya heard me_

_And I'mma make it rain on the girl who serves me_

_I drink a fifth of vodka 'til it's gone_

_And if it feels so good then it can't be wrong_

_I'm comin' in hot, ya heard me_

_We be takin' shots, and if not, you nerdy"_

Kenny sang softly along with the chorus from his position on the hood of one of the old junkers parked in a wide circled around a large fire. He was out of range of the heat, but he could see it, and all of the bumping, grinding, and swaying bodies dotted around it. He brought the bottle of Pabst up to his lips and took another swig as he watched everyone dancing. His brother, Kevin, had dragged him to the party, but had disappeared with a back of weed and a bunch of friends once they arrived. So now the blonde sat, alone, drinking, on the hood of a stranger's rust-coated shitmachine. He sighed and took yet another swig.

"Someone like you shouldn't be all alone in a place like this…" a husky female voice drawled from Kenny's right, earning an unamused eyebrow quirk and slight head tilt.

"Really?" he drawled back, mildly shocked by how drunk he sounded. "Neither should you. There's a lot of bad people out there." He made a grand motion towards the improvised dance floor.

"Oh, I think I'm safe with you…" slender hands wormed their way across Kenny's bare arms, heading towards the zipper of his vest.

"And how do you know I'm not one of the bad guys?" he asked, entirely indifferent to her advances. "Maybe I've just been sitting here waiting for someone like you." He held up the bear bottle in his hand, pointing the neck of it at here before taking a hearty gulp. "Some poor girl who wanders far enough away from the rest…" he looked at her, fighting the urge to smirk as she took a few stumbling steps back before speed-walking away. Blue eyes watched her walk for a while, before turning back to the mesmerizing flames. He felt a connection to them. A kinship with the fire. No matter how many times people snuffed out the orange, red, and yellow swirls, they were able to come back again. And again. And again. Lifting the bottle once more to his lips, he frowned. Empty. Damnit. Looking around, and seeing no one close enough to ask for another, he resigns himself to a beerless period. Leaning back against the windshield, he stared up at the sky.

"You turned that girl down," a nasally monotone commented from the front of the car. Kenny looked between his bent knees at the owner of the voice, only partially surprise to see Craig. He held out another bottle of Pabst, which Kenny sat up and grabbed, popping the top against the hood of the car.

"Thanks." He took a thoughtful sip of the beer and shifted over, allowing the other boy to pull himself on to the car as well. "And I di'in't turn her down. I insi… insin… inshen… suggested that I might be a rapist…" He let out a deep chuckle, one that _didn't_ end in a cough. He only ended his laughs with coughs when Kyle was around, simply to hear the redhead warn him about "smokers' lung". It was nice to have someone care.

"Nice. But don't those sorts of girls normally make you-" Kenny held up the bottle, signaling Craig to stop.

"We both know you're going to say 'so happy', so let me tell you now that yes. _Normally_ they do. _Normally." _Another swig.

"And this time is different because…?" Craig watched the crowd with the same detached indifference Kenny had been.

The blonde shrugged then, remembering his friend wasn't looking at him, offered, "I have stuff on my mind."

"Other than sex?"

"Sort of."

"Girl troubles?"

"Sort of."

"Kyle troubles?"

"Sort o- hey wait." Kenny, his attention sufficiently grabbed, stared at the teen in the blue hat. "Now why would you assume that?"

Craig shrugged and took another sip of his own beer. "Just because I don't talk, doesn't mean I don't listen." Then the rarest of all images played itself out. Craig Tucker smiled. … Well, it was more of a grimace/smirk hybrid, but the point still stands.

"You're an asshole." Kenny griped half-heartedly, downing the rest of the beer.

"And you need to sort out your priorities." Craig slid off the care and slouched away into the darkness before Kenny had time to respond.

Kenny frowned at the dark-haired boy's retreating form, mulling his words over in his mind.

"Why does everyone have to be so damn cryptic?" he mumbled aloud. _This emotion shit sucks ass…_

* * *

**What-ho? Has the shitstorm just hit the small town of South Park? Why yes. Yes it did.**

**Random Reviewer: Migawd, K! Did Kyle just come out to his parents?**

**Me: Yes he did, fine young reviewer!**

**RR: And does Red really mean it when she says she's going to come back to Cartman?**

**Me: You'll have to red the next chapter for that!**

**RR: Does Craig know something he's not telling us?**

**Me: Doesn't he always?**

**ANYHIZZLE. IT'S ALMOST 3 AM (2:51 AS OF THE TYPING OF THAT LAST LITTLE BIT, OH! 2:52) AND I AM SERIOUSLY TIRED :D BUT I LOVE Y'ALL.**

**Consider this a shout out to Tyler-Song. ... I think I typed that right. Whatevs. :3 Night (sweet cripes 2:53) readers.**


	12. Dumb Blonde

"So you're telling me that your parents really freaked on you for being gay?" Stan ran a hand through his dark hair, looking perplexed.

"… Out of ALL of that, the _only_ think you're commenting on is the fact that my parents flipped. Nothing else. Not even a tiny little thought towards the fact that… oh, I dunno… I just told you that I'm _GAY_?" The redhead threw his hands up in exasperation, a gesture he seemed to use frequently with his friends.

There was a sort of uneasy silence before Stan finally sighed and shook his head. "Honestly, dude, we've been expecting it. After Butters and Tweek, we all figured it was only a matter of time. Though _no one_ expected the… uh… lucky guy to be… Kenny." He scratched his head, looking mildly apologetic.

After a few moments of incredulous noises ranging from "eep" to "fwuh" Kyle finally decided on "I was really gay man number 3?" He looked utterly distraught, his emerald eyes wide and puffy from the tears that he had only recently stopped shedding, though it appeared as though they were only seconds from falling again. "Seriously? … Number 3?" He frowned up at his best friend from his spot on the overstuffed bean bag. The redhead had known he was flight feminine, but STILL.

"Well, yeah." The dark-haired teen sat in the chair across from his snuffling guest, unsure of how to respond. "It's not a bad thing," he offered, trying his best to sound comforting. "It's cool, actually." He nodded thoughtfully, a smile playing across his lips. "It just means that you know yourself enough to discover who you truly are." He ended with a quick jerk of his head, as though agreeing with himself.

"Stan…?"

"Yes?" the ravenette asked, looking smug.

"I happen to know that that was almost a word for word passage from the book we're reading in English." Kyle gave Stan the most serious look he could muster before dissolving into laughter. Stan joined after a moment of shock and faux-hurt. Soon enough, the two were leaning against each other for support as tears streamed down their faces. Neither one could breathe beyond the occasional gasp, and both of their shoulders shook from the now-silent guffaws and contractions in their chests. Kyle began to feel better than he had in a long time. Worries about Bebe, Kenny, his sexuality, and school all slipped away as he laughed himself into a stupor with his super best friend.

After what seemed like a lifetime, to two managed to come down enough to breathe and, eventually, talk.

"How do you do it, Stan?" The redhead asked, leaning back on the bean bag

"Do what?" Stan cast yet another confused glance towards his friend, unsure of what he was asking.

"All of it," he answered simply. Stan made a frustrated half-groan, half-snort, so Kyle elaborated. "On top of all of the crazy shit we've been through – alien anal probes, giant guinea pigs, an apocalyptic war between us and Canada – your parents are split, you have to balance sports, school, AND your girlfriend. Oh, and you somehow find it in yourself to tolerate Cartman. Yet you seem perfectly fine. No serious issues. No breakdowns. No insane questioning of who you are. You're the all-American boy. How do you do it?" Frowning, he sat back up.

"Easy, actually." Head tilted to the side, he shrugged and smiled. "You just gotta roll with the punches and wait for a chance to punch back. Y'know? Let things happen, but make it work for you." It was Kyle's turn to look confused as his friend talked, nothing leaving his mouth making any sense to the redhead. Upon seeing this, Stan scrabbled for a more relatable example. "Here, think about my anger over the divorce. Not gonna lie, it hurt pretty bad. But I channel all of that anger into my tackles and swings during games. Make sense now?"

Kyle nodded, smiling. "Yeah. Thanks, dude."

"Any time."

"… But seriously. Third gayest?"

"Only a totally gay guy would keep asking."

"…Fuck."

* * *

Red was _really _not looking forwards to confronting Kenny. She didn't have any plan whatsoever, and the hope that one would come to her was beginning to fade. So far, what she had resembled that of the gnomes she heard Tweek screeching about so often.

Step One: Get to Kenny's.

Step Two: …..We're still working on that one.

Step Three: Go cry heart out to Eric (… ew. She was really intending to do that one. Strange.)

Sighing heavily, the worried girl hopped over the tracks that marked both the "bad" side of town, and the 5 minute mark to Kenny's. Unsure of what she was going to say, she slowed her pace. Would he be upset? Is he going to try to get at least one last go out of her? What if Kevin or Karen answers the door? … She was really starting to understand why the local coffee addict always panicked about his unknown "pressures".

She didn't notice where she was until she felt weather warn wood against her knuckles as she knocked on the McCormick's front door. More than nervous, she waited for either her (soon-to-be-ex) boyfrind or a member of his family to open the door. Her apprehension only increased when she heard shuffling footsteps on the other side of the flaking hunk of wood. It sounded ominous to her – like something you'd hear scuffing a path down a darkened hallway in a horror movie… it took a good chunk of willpower to not turn and leave.

Just as her fears were getting the better of her, Kenny opened the door. His hair was messed, his clothes looked more slept in than usual, and he held a hand up to his bloodshot to block the sun. "Oh… Red? Hey." He looked as though he wanted to go back inside the pleasant darkness of his drafty house. Leaning against the doorway in a small stretch of shadow, he scratched his head and looked down at his jittery girlfriend. "What's up?"

_Now or never, _she told herself, inhaling deeply. "We need to talk, ken." Red rolled her wrists in her pockets, still unsure of the little nub of a plan that had started to form.

"Uh… sure. Come in," the blonde, thoughts and words slurred ever so slightly, shifted just enough to allow the small girl to slide passed him into the familiar house.

Eventually, he joined her on the couch, not registering her serious expression through the haze of his hangover. "What do you wanna talk about, babe?" he smiled at her. That damn smile. So kind and disarming. Why did he have to smile? It just made things that much harder.

"Well, Ken…" _here it goes,_ "I know about you and Kyle." She looked down, both surprised by her directness and afraid of his response.

Kenny frowned at the redheaded girl as what she said began to sink in. "Wait, what? How?" He shifted in his seat so he could look at her, sounding more upset over being _caught_ then actually _doing_ IT.

"Eric…" she mumbled, eyes still downcast. "He's been looking out for me, y'know?" After a stretch of silence, Red felt a rough, warm hand on her shoulder.

"Look Red, I'm sorry. I really am." His voice held none of the remorse or sadness that the already-emotional girl thought it should, and it was obvious (to her at least) that he didn't really care.

"No, Ken. I don't think you are," she snapped, standing up. "If I mattered at all, you wouldn't have done it in the first place." Tears began to prickle in the corner of her eyes. "You didn't even have the balls to tell me _after_ you did it. I found out from _**CARTMAN**_!" little salty jewels of water started to fall, dragging carefully applied eyeliner and mascara with them. "Y'know, I can't believe I actually thought you cared. Can you, Ken? Can you believe I was that _stupid__**?" **_she paced furiously, up and down, up and down, in front of the couch. "This kind of funny, actually." She paused and looked down at the blonde's still-seated form "I've been fooling myself this whole time. I heard the rumours, but I pretended that I didn't. I pretended not to believe them because I wanted you to be the guy I thought you were. The nice, loyal, caring guy…"

"But I am that guy, babe."

"Don't you _**DARE**_ call me 'babe', you fucking basatrd," she snarled, glaring at him. "Don't try to pull any of this nicey-nice shit, Ken. You obviously don't understand just how much this… this hurts." Her voice faltered towards the end as the beginnings of sobs caught in her throat, making words a virtual impossibility.

"Hey,hey, Shh." Finally the blonde stood up and walked, albeit unsteadily, over to her. "C'mon, shhh." He carefully pulled her into a comforting hug.

"D-don't tuh-touch m…me..." she sniffled, then gave him a half-hearted shove and tried to pull away. She didn't want him to be near her, but she so craved the his assuring presence.

"No matter how mad you are at me, I'll still try to help you." He rubbed her back in small circles. "I may not be the boyfriend you want me to be – Hell, I'm probably the shittiest boyfriend in South Park – but I'm still a decent guy." He leaned back and smiled, earning a hearty sniff in return. "Now, I don't want you leaving here pissed, or thinking that I don't care. 'Cause I do, even if it doesn't seem like it. I'm just an idiot some… okay, most of the time. Alright?" she sniffed again and nodded, forcing a watery smile. "There ya go!" He brushed a few strands of tear-soaked hair out of her face.

"I… I'm s-stil duh-mping your ass." She laughed as the tears began slowing.

"I would have dumped myself if you didn't. You're smart getting out when you can, y'know. God, I'm such a douche. Forgive me?" he tilted his head, giving a hopeful smile.

"Well…" she gave him a critical look before the grin once again took over her features. "Yeah. I guess. Damn you and your boyish charm."

He let go and took a step back, still smiling. "Well, I guess this is good-bye."

Red rolled her eyes and headed towards the door. "You're so cheesy it hurts." With that, she slipped out the door and let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding. With shaky hands, she pulled out her phone and pressed her newest speed-dial addition.

"It's done," she breathed into the mouthpiece, letting it finally sink in. "I'll see you in an hour." Smiling once more, she flipped her phone shut and headed down the street.

* * *

One learns to placate angry girlfriends when the majority of the town is made up of one's exes.

Kenny stumbled up the stairs, doing his best not to wake Kevin and Karen who were curled against each other – fast asleep – in Kevin's room. Quietly, oh so quietly (or as quietly as a hungover McCormick could) he slid into his room and eased the door shut. Picking a careful path through the clutter, he slowly made his way over to first the window, where he covered it with a dark sweater to eliminate as much light as possible, then to his bed where he knew his phone sat. With a huff, he collapsed onto the mattress and flipped open the device. After a few tries, he managed to dial the right number.

"H-hello?" the familiar and timid voice of Butters Stotch asked after only a handful of rings.

"I'm an idiot," the older blonde groaned, draping his arm across his face to further discourage the light or his growing sense of self-loathing – he was unsure which was more disheartening.

"Kenny?" concern filled the smaller boy's voice as it crackled through the ancient phone's speaker.

"The one and only. Look, Butters… I, uh… I need your help." Kenny hated asking for help, but some things just can't be avoided.

"Oh, g-gosh, Ken. Are you okay? P-please tell me you're okay." He could practically see the light-blonde bumping his fists together.

"What? Oh, yeah. No. I'm fine. I think. I just need some advice. _Oh god. I'm being gay._

There was some shuffling and popping in the earpiece as Butters settled somewhere. Kenny guessed he was squirming in amongst his Hello Kitty blankets and toys. "Well alrighty, Ken. What's on your mind?"

"Where to begin, where to begin…" he scratched the rough stubble spotting his chin as he thought. "Well, Red dumped me," there was a gasp on the other end of the line, and Kenny pushed forwards before Butters started playing the catty best friend. "But I absolutely deserved it." He proceeded to launch into a full retelling of both of his less-than-kosher meetings with Kyle, as he wasn't entirely sure which Red knew about, and ended with a rather pitiful "help me, Buttercup."

There was a long period of silence from Butter's end. So long, in fact, that Kenny was about to hand up when he heard a heavy sigh.

"Gee, Ken. Y'know you're my best friend, right?" he made a small noise in the affirmative and watched as one of his "pet" (common, house-invading, refuses-to-leave) rats scittered across his legs and took refuge in the closet. "A-an' I love ya to death… b-but you're a-a real dummie." The hungover teen made a sound somewhere between 'obviously' and 'what?' "You don't even understand why Red and K-Kyle are mad, do ya Ken?"

"Well, yeah…" he mumbled, covering his face again. "Wait, what? Kyle's Mad, too?"

Another stretch of silence followed by another sigh. "I c-can't help you t-till you help yourself." Aafter yet another sight, Butters hung up.

"That line is clichéd and overused!" he shouted into the dead line before chucking his phone across the room.

_What did I do so wrong…?_

* * *

_**The beauty of whatever this is. Kenny just keeps digging himself deeper.**_

_**Keep reviewing, people!**_


	13. The Plan

Kenny felt truly and utterly alone.

It had been two days since Red had dumped him, two days since Butters had hung up on him.

Two days since any of his friends had acknowledged his existence.

At first, it had been kind of like a joke. Butters didn't walk to school with him – okay, cool. Maybe he's sick? Then Kyle wasn't waiting at his locker – kinda fishy… probably tutoring someone in the library. On top of that, he walked passed Red and Cartman holding hands and laughing.

Kenny began to think he was in some sort of nightmarish alternate reality. Either that or having a really, _**REALLY**_ bad trip.

The straw that broke the camel's back came when he slouched (only a handful of heartbeats before the bell rang – he had to at least look like he didn't care) into his first-period math class and saw Butters.

Except Butters wasn't in his normal seat.

He was on the other side of the classroom. As far away from Kenny's seat as possible.

Seriously, dude. What the fuck.

"Kenneth!" the teacher snapped, glaring at him over her tiny half-moon glasses.

Shit, did he say that out loud?

"Sorry, miss…" he mumbled as he shuffled to the back of the classroom and sat heavily in his seat.

That was two days ago.

The poor blonde was _still_ being ignored.

Seriously. What. The. Fuck.

He scrubbed Clunker's oil off his hands at the end of shop class, resigned to another lonely day.

"Kennee," he heard a fairly thickly accented voice call across the room. The blonde looked up. Ah. Christophe. Too stubborn to let the sound of his mothertongue die, no matter how many years he spent in this "blazing sheethole of a town". And the only student at SPH who still seemed willing to talk to him.

"Gimme a sec," Kenny shouted back, drying his hands on ripped and grubby jeans. After checking himself in the mirror, ruffling his hair just so, and grabbing his smokes, he jogged across the shop to his seemingly only friend.

"You seem… down," the French teen observed as he tapped the ash off his cigarette. No smoking on school grounds was merely a suggestion as far as he was concerned. The mercenary regarded him with a critical expression, and Kenny shifted uneasily, getting the distinct feeling he'd be unable to lie his way out of any of Christophe's questioning. And if he were to be honest with himself – he wouldn't attempt it anyways; he's seen what that ever-present shovel can do.

"I guess." He sighed and nudged his way out into the courtyard before lighting his own smoke and taking a soothing drag. "Things are just stupid, y'know?" He folded his arms and leaned back against the wall, cigarette hanging loosely between his lips.

The brunette nodded thoughtfully, taking another puff. "No one 'as been talkeeng to you, 'have zey?" The blonde shook his head slightly, amazed at how intuitive his friend was. Or, well… he could've just been observant. Hell, not even. Anyone with eyes could see that everyone avoided him like the plague. "And you 'ave no… idea vhy zey are all treateeng you like zis?" Another silent headshake. "Kennee, I like you. So I am goeeng to tell you a leettle… secret, oui?" A wordless nod, though this motion was far less certain. What was going on? "All your friends… zey are mad at you for your eegnorance. Zey are mad at you because you are an eedeeot."

Kenny, utterly confused, breathed in another lungful of toxic air. "Okay, what?"

Christophe watched him, wondering if the blonde was indeed that thick. After a few moments he concluded that yes, he was. He was actually that stupid. "'Ow can I dumb zis down for you?" Kenny gave a look of faux hurt at which the blond smirked. "Oh! I know!" He stuck his cigarette in his mouth, muffling his voice slightly, then held up one hand. His fingers were bent and his thumb extended downwards. "Zis ees you, oui?" the other teen nodded with a dull expression on his face and an obvious lack of understanding. "Ah zis," he held up the other hand, same as the first, "ees Kyle. Now, breeng ze two togez'air et…"

"It makes a heart!" Realisation suddenly dawned on the blonde's face and his jaw comically dropped, sending the cigarette toppling to the ground. "Shit, man! I gotta go tell Kyle that I know what's got him all bent" He snuffed the smoldering butt of his smoke out with the toe of his ever-present converse before turning and running off quicker than you could say "zat ees not a good idea!"

"Stupeed bastard…" Ze Mole muttered, watching Kenny leave with mild amusement.

* * *

"Kyle! Hey! Hey Kyle!" A ball of pure orange, white, and denim-clad energy bounded up to the very unamused redhead as he sat in the library.

"One," he hissed, teeth clenched, "we're in a library. So shut up. Two, I'm not talking to you, so shut up. Three? Just shut up." Kyle turned back this essay, hoping that the blonde would leave if he only managed to ignore him.

No such luck.

"No, no. Dude. I know what's been eating at you. It makes total sense now." He pulled out a chair and sat on it backwards, legs on either side of the backrest, head resting on arms folded across the top.

Still not listening, Kyle noded. "Oh yeah?" he sounded indifferent, if not mildly pissed.

"Mmmmmhmmmmm." It was more of a deep, chest-based hum than an answer, but it was understandable. The redhead idly wondered when he learned to speak Kenny, barely noticing when the blonde leaned in close to his ear. "I know that you like me," he breathed, his voice suggestive.

Kyle felt his blood run cold. Suddenly, his heart was trying to smash through his ribs, hindering the expansion of his lungs and altogether stopping his breathing. _How could he know? Stan would tell him would he? No. So how? _He could feel his breathe come back in quick puffs and he desperately tried to calm it. His hands felt clammy, and it suddenly felt stifling in the near empty library.

"How…?" he managed to squeak out after regaining some of his senses. His blood still felt cold.

The redhead heard a soft 'tch' as Kenny's expression cracked into a smirk. "I have my ways, Kyle," he purred, his breath ghosting over the other teens' ear and neck. The blonde let out a low chuckle and suddenly Kyle's hair (among other things) was standing on end.

"Stop it, Kenny." Kyle tried to think of as many unsexy things as possible, but only succeeded in making himself more uncomfortable. "Please." His voice sounded whiney, even to himself.

In response, the blonde ran his tongue lightly along his friend's neck, earning a shiver and a groan. "Now why would I stop when I know exactly what you want and exactly how to give it to you?"

A warm, calloused hand placed on his inner thigh finally snapped the redhead out of his haze. With a disgusted snort, he shoved Kenny, sending him falling to the ground with the chair on top of him.

"You obviously don't know what I want, dude." Kyle snapped, not caring that a few other people in the library were watching the scene the same way they might watch a car wreck. "Y'know what, Kenny? How about you just fuck off until you can get your shit together." He gathered up his stuff and stepped over the blonde on his way out.

Kenny, both his back and his ego thoroughly bruised, glared up at the ceiling. "What. The. FUCK?!" he shouted, kicking the chair out of his way and standing up. "Oh, fuck you," he seethed at the on-lookers. "Like you've never fucked up before." He booted open the door and left, uncharacteristically snarling at anyone brave (or stupid) enough to wander nearby.

Why is nothing working out?

* * *

The redhead hadn't been home since his family's little blow-up, and dreaded going back at all. He didn't want to face his parents. He knew they were pissed. And he knew he would, as Butters would have said, have heck to pay. Sighing, he rested his head against the warm bus window and watched the world go by.

* * *

"Kyle Isaac Broflovski!" Sheila's shrill voice greeted the teen as he tried to sneak in and up to his room.

"Shit…" he hissed through clenched teeth. He was so not in the mood for this.

"Come here and sit down, Kyle. Your father and I would like to talk to you." Kyle caught a glimpse of Ike sitting at the top of the stairs and felt the tiniest bit better. At least his brother was there for him.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he shuffled into the front room and sat on the uncomfortable chair that was facing the couch – and his parents. His lips were pressed into a thing, hard line. He refused to be the first to speak.

"We've been thinking, Kyle…" his mother began, lines of worry and sadness etched into her face.

"And we're worried about you," came his father's quiet voice. "You were gone for a few days. We talked to Stan's mother, but that doesn't excuse you." It startled the teen slightly after his mother's overwhelming presence. He had almost forgotten that his dad was there.

"We just want to make sure that you're okay. And that you're starting to let go of this little… phase." If Sheila's words hadn't gotten to Kyle, her condescending tone would have.

"It's not a phase…" His voice was partially muted by his still-clenched teeth.

"Of course it is, bubby." She sounded as though she were talking a moody child down from a tantrum.

"No, mom. It really isn't. Hear me out, alright? I'm not doing this for attention. And I'm not doing it to spite you and dad. Look," he breathed pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to relax, "I love you guys. I've got high grades. I'm in honors classes. The most rebellious thing I've ever done is go to Peru – which in retrospect was really stupid. I'm still me. Still Kyle Broflovski. Still your son. I'm just gay." Kyle spoke slowly and carefully, doing his best not to spark his mother's nearly-famous temper. The last thing he needed was for her to declare war on the homosexual community. He could already see it. American and rainbow flags charging towards each other, battle cries of "For America" and "For Madonna" being shouted from either side. The idea made him shiver.

"How can you still be our son, our precious Kyle, if you're… gay?" The heavy set woman whispered the last word as though it were dangers. The condescending tone still hadn't faded.

"Easily," he sighed, doing his best to stay calm. Exploding really wouldn't help his situation. "I'm still exactly the same as I was before. Only one tiny thing has changed. One tiny thing, and it didn't even really change. It just became more apparent. It doesn't make much sense to me, either…" Kyle could feel his heart sink when he realized that he wasn't getting through to his mom. Gerald, though silent, looked supportive. It gave Kyle all the hope he needed. "I'm not going to change, mom. If I've learned anything in the last little while, it's that you have to do what you know is right. No matter how hard or frowned upon it is." He gave both of his parents a critical look and stood up. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have homework." And with that, he turned and left, defying his mother for the first time in his life.

* * *

Kenny kicked a pile of clothing, hissing and letting lose a string of colourful expletives when it turned out to be a stack of books. Still cursing, he sat heavily on his mattress.

_Why couldn't thinks just work in his favor?_

First, he let Kyle get away from him when he tried getting some the first time. Big fucking mistake. Okay, not really. It was better to be a dick than a criminal. Then, he got caught doing it! And that lead to his girlfriend leaving him – which is beyond fucked because he didn't even get ANY before she left. He's had NOTHING in over a goddamn MONTH. So, not only is he not nailing Kyle, but he's no longer got a girlfriend to rail in the mean time. Now, all his friends are pissed because Kyle wants him and all he wants is sex.

Right?

Whatever.

Kenny knew that he wanted sex, and he didn't care about the emotions that lead up to it.

Right?

Laying back against the stained bed, he frowned.

He had a plan rolling around in his shaggy blonde head… but he didn't know if he could do it. The worst part would be the time constraints. He had two weeks to do it. Two weeks of school left. Kyle could run all summer if he wanted. But for the next two weeks?

He belonged to Kenny.

* * *

_**Guess who's back**_

_**Back again**_

_**K is back**_

_**Tell your friends**_

**Hey guys! Holy shit, I've missed y'all. So, here's a 2000+ word chapter by means of apology. I promise I'm done being a shitstain. I promise. I love you guys for reviewing. I do. I love you. And I'm so sorry.**

**But I'm back and I'd love your reviews! 3**


	14. Catastrophic Fuck Up

"Kyle?" Kenny made his voice sound as pleading and apologetic as he could when once again approaching the redhead in the library.

The other teen obviously wanted to be mad, but his friend's tone caught him off guard. He looked intrigued but wary as he turned around. "You okay, dude…?" His mind's eye played back all the cuts, bruises, breaks, and scrapes. All he could do was hope that his worrying was for not.

The blonde's head hung and his shoulders sagged as he shuffled over to the chair next to Kyle and sat down.

He looked utterly defeated.

"I'm… really, really… REALLY sorry, dude." Kenny tugged at the drawstrings of his vest hoodie. He kept on looking down, as though he were too nervous to meet his friend's gaze. "I was thinking about last week and… god, I feel like such a fucking dick."

Kyle frowned as he tried to read the blonde. It was an effort in futility – Kenny was the master of reading people, but no one ever read him. "What are you sorry for, Ken?" he shifted uneasily in his seat, not at all used to seeing the other so down. He always managed to seem in such high spirits, despite everything he went through. Unless, of course, you were to insult his friends or his little sister.

He finally looked up, eyes shining with what Kyle could only assume (hope) was unshed tears. "Well… for everything. Like… damnit, dude. I know you like me… and I guess," he paused to run both hands through his hair, fisting them in it and stretching back in his chair. "I guess I like you, too. I just… I dunno how to express it, y'know?" He cast his eyes downwards again, looking truly sorry.

Still confused by what he was hearing, the redhead couldn't respond. His mind was swimming. Kenny was sorry for pressuring him? And he actually, honestly, truly returned his feelings? Was Kyle hearing this? Was this seriously happening? His heart starting pounding against his ribs again, loud enough for both of them to hear, Kyle was sure. He tried to calm it – another exercise in futility. "Sorry?" he managed to asked, to which Kenny nodded meekly. "Ah… um… thanks?"

"Do you forgive me for my total douchebaggery?" For the first time since the conversation began, the taller teen looked hopeful.

"Obviously," the bookworm replied, almost too quickly. It took too much effort to be mad at his friend.

Suddenly Kenny's face lit up with an almost childish sort of joy. His too-blue eyes held their typical mischievous glint again. It was like watching the sun unexpectedly glint off of a reflective surface, the burst of light startling you with in its suddenness. "Dude toy are totally the best." He stood with frightening speed and launched himself at the smaller boy, enveloping him in a smothering hug.

"Okay, no – if you don't mind – I have an essay to finish." Kyle's voice was muffled by the blonde's shoulder, but he knew the other could understand him.

"Aw, fine…" he groaned, his voice low and holding the hint of a smirk. "We're gonna hang out all this week, right? Make up for lost time?" Pulling back, blue eyes searched green.

There was a momentary paused as the redhead once again tried, unsuccessfully, to read his friend. "Yeah, that should be fine," he finally agreed, smiling. This was the Kenny he knew.

"Fuckin' A!" Kenny's smile broadened before he jogged out of the library, waving as he went.

Yeah. That was definitely his Kenny.

* * *

Kenny leaned against the counter, watching his brother scrub ever surface he could with a ragged dishcloth. Child services reps would be showing up later, and they wanted the house to look at least mildly presentable. Which, unfortunately, meant scrubbing through food, garbage, and who knows what else. "It's not gonna change anything, Kev." He shrugged, staring out the grimy window at the garbage-strewn front lawn. "It's just the local workers. We might even get Butters' mom again." Hauling himself up to sit on the counter, he smiled. "Besides – you're old enough to be our legal guardian."

"Yeah. I also do more dope than our parents half the time, throw parties, and drink like a fucking sailor. Chances are, they wouldn't give you guys to me anyways. And if they don't, we're gonna get split up," he shot back, tossing a damp cloth at the blonde, who snatched it out of the air before it could hit him. "Now make yourself useful and clean that window that you've been making fucking googly-eyes at." He gave the younger boy a less-than-gentle nudge off the counter.

"Sheesh, mom…" Kenny whined, making a show of dragging his feet to the window and wiping the rag across it. "Speaking of, where're her and dad?"

Kevin stopped his cleaning and titled his head, distinct McCormick blue eyes unfocused as he thought. "You'll never believe it, little bro. They're trading in their empties." He turned around and folded his arms, the rag left sitting – temporarily forgotten – on the counter.

"Yeah, so?" Kenny asked, wrinkling his nose at a rather large spider that was sitting in the corner of one of the broken window panes. "They trade in their empties for booze money all the time."

"Never said they were getting booze money." The smirk in his older brother's voice was enough to pull the blonde away from his 8-to-2 staring contest.

"Wait what? Then why would they be trading in…?" He could feel the little bastard staring at him and fought the urge to turn around and squish it, or maybe flick it out the window. Wait, was there a lighter around…? He could even get away with torching it.

"Yeah. They're getting food. And they're using this month's food stamps. We're eating this month, dude."

"Until they trade our food for a quick fix."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yup."

"If you say so." Kenny turned away from Kevin, suddenly inexplicably annoyed by the conversation.

The spider was still staring at him.

"Oh, for fuck's sake…" He glared hatefully at the arachnid. "Look, dude. You and I both know what one of us is going to end up dead unless you leave." The blonde folded his arms and attempted to stare down the evil creature. "I'll go to squish you, you'll bite me, I'll crush you while I'm flailing, and then I'll get some kind of horrible infection and die. So, do us both a favor and scuttle away to torment some other poor asshole." The two stared at each other, the spider looking as though it was seriously considering what Kenny had to say. After a long while and several "shoo"s, it turned and scurried out of the window and into the untamed, uncut jungle of the McCormick's front long. Feeling accomplished, Kenny went back to cleaning.

After a half hour of silent scrubbing, Karen came bounding into the kitchen, one of the many stray cats trotting along behind her. Kenny, being a dog person ever since the cheesing incident, regarded the feeling much the same way as he had the spider.

"Hey Kare," Kevin greeted picking the young girl up and spinning her around. "What's up?"

"Kyle's here!" she beamed, her blue eyes sparkling. Kyle was one of her favorites – he was always nice to her, and his little brother was one of her best friends.

"Oh, is he?" Her eldest brother smiled knowingly at Kenny. "Better let him in, Ken. Don't want to leave him out there all alone."

The blonde stuck his tongue out at his siblings, smiling slightly. "He can stay, right Kev? Child Services won't care?" The other thought for a moment and shook his head, earning another smile.

The door stuck a bit, too stubborn to let go of its jamb, and Kenny had to put some force into pulling it open. And there stood Kyle, smiling and listening to his music through a set of thin, warp-around headphones. The blonde could hear the chorus chanting about running. "Foster the People?" he asked, listening to the song play out.

"Absolutely!" came the enthusiastic response. Is it cool if I come in?" The redhead tapped his foot and swayed his hips slightly to the music. The other teen nodded and stepped aside, making room. As Kyle walked passed, Kenny heard the song switch to one of hit many unheard of bands. He stopped in the middle of the front room and looked around. "Dude."

"Mmm?" Kenny closed the door and turned around, the smell of Kyle's obviously expensive body spray (or was it cologne? It certainly smelled high-end enough) stuck in his nose. It was an intoxicating scent – definitely masculine, but with an almost fruity under tone. It made thinking – among other things – hard for the blonde.

"Your house is clean."

Kenny frowned at his friend, waiting for his words to sink in through the sudden hormone-induced haze. It took a while, but he smiled once it did. "Oh, yeah. CPS is coming over. Sort of a monthly check-up sorta thing." He threw himself into his much-loved recliner and smiled. "Take a seat, Ky. They're clean."

Kyle dripped his satchel and say on the end of the couch closest to the recliner. "It's okay that I'm here though, right? The worker won't mind?" He leaned on the armrest and watched his friend intently.

"Ooooohhh, yeah. It's totally cool." Kenny stretched out as far as he could and smiled his languid Cheshire cat smile. "And my parents are actually getting food. It's fucking awesome, isn't it?"

Language, language," the redhead said teasingly, wagging a finger disapprovingly in the other's face.

Kenny smirked, leaned forwards, and was about to nip playfully at Kyle's finger when a shrill voice called his name from the doorway, causing both boys to turn.

There, in the doorway, stood both Carol and Stuart, their arms full of grocery bags.

"Oh, hello Kyle." Kenny's mom smiled at the stunned teen before looking at the blonde and lifting her arms. "Well? Are you gonna help or what?" Both boys, along with Karen and Kevin, bounded over and grabbed a few bags. They had barely set them down when there was a tentative knock at the still-open door.

Karen, having only carried a milk jug, ran back to the door. Everyone else almost dropped the groceries when she cried "Linda" at the top of her lungs.

Kyle looked at Kenny, one eyebrow raised. "Linda? Like Linda as in-"

"Butters' mom? Yeah. She's our caseworker." The other's teen's lips quirked back in a crooked half-grin as he set the stuff down and headed towards the front room. "Coming?"

One by one, everyone filed into the sitting area with eager, greetings of "hey Linda" or the more tense, business-like "hello, Mrs. Stotch". Space filled up quickly, leaving Kyle perched awkwardly on the armrest of the recliner. Kenny stretched out beside him and rocked the chair slightly, knocking Kyle off balance and having him land in the seat against the blonde. He smiled and curled around the smaller teen slightly, pulling him close.

Linda raised her eyebrow at them, but otherwise paid no mind.

"This is just your regular monthly thing – no stress. I see you were shopping." She nodded towards the kitchen doorway where a few bags were visible. Stuart nodded. "How are you feeling, children? Feeling okay?" She smiled and held her pen against her note pad. Both Kevin and Karen nodded, faux-smiles plastered across their faces. They were huddled close together on the couch, watching her hopefully. Kenny, however, had his face buried against Kyle's neck, who had subconsciously started to play with the mop of shaggy blonde locks. Kenny fought the urge to purr.

After watching the two teens for a few moments, Linda turned back to Stuart and Carol. "I did intend to stay here for a while, to watch you interact. However, I see that everything appears to be in order." She folded her hands in her lap and eyed everyone carefully. "All of you seem to be improving steadily. With your permission, I would like to move these visits to once every two months."

Slowly, Stuart nodded. "Uh, yeah. That would be great. You can do that?" He looked hopeful, but wary. Kevin glared at him, knowing full well that he would only use the extra month to drink.

"There will be paperwork and a handful of visits in the near future, but yes."

"If you wouldn't mind, Linda, I think we could all appreciate that." Carol had the same hopeful expression as her husband, and her oldest son turned his glare her way.

"Good, then it's settled. We'll be in contacts soon. She turned and headed towards the door, smiling all the way.

Once the door was safely shut, the group let out a collective sigh. Even if it was just Linda, CPS meetings fucking sucked.

* * *

"You and Kyle, huh? Somthin' finally happening?" Kevin smirked over at Kenny from his spot on the couch. Kyle had left, and their parents had disappeared on another weekend-long boozefest to celebrate the bumping of CPS' visits, leaving the kids to fend for themselves. The brunette took a swig of his beer, eyes never leaving his brother. "Every day this week he's either been here, or you've been at his place. Fill me in, bro. Tell me what's going on." Kevin was never one to be bothered by other people's choices, so having a little brother who liked to run around with both genders didn't faze him at all.

The blonde frowned, his brows furrowing in thought. "Honestly, Kev?" He leaned closer and dropped his voice slightly. "I think I'm just in it to get laid." He leaned back in his seat and smirked.

A period of silence stretched between the two as Kevin thought. "Ken," he said finally, looking serious. "That's fucked up, even for you." He set his beer down on the floor and sat up, giving his brother a critical look.

"How is that fucked?" He set his beer down as well and returned the gaze. "Normally you're encouraging me to chase tail. What's so different about this?" His voice had started to get louder and his irritation grew.

"What's different? Dude, Kyle's your fucking friend. Plus, he really fucking likes you." The brunette ground his teeth as he tried to keep his temper in check.

"The fuck is your problem, Kev? Why does it matter? You've never given a shit about my love life before."

"Love life? Fuck that."

"Why the FUCK does it matter?"

"It matters 'cause you're dragging yourself into the same shit hole our parents are in. The same shit hole I'm in." Kevin stood and pushed a dirty hand through his dirtier hair. "I thought you'd smarted up if someone came along who actually had real fucking feelings for you." He began to pace the front room, his words becoming louder. "You really are a good kid, Ken. There's hope for you. But you're letting yourself get distracted and slip."

"'Get distracted'?" Kenny echoed, standing as well. "I know where I'm going. I'm not gonna be a worthless bag of shit like the rest of you. So what if I want a little fun before I leave? I don't get what's bugging you out."

"I'm bugged out because you're a fucking idiot! Kyle's the brightest kid in this town, and you're gonna drag him down with you." The two were now face to face, Kevin standing taller by only a few inches. "Now, I know no one expects anything big out of the McCormick kids, but he's different. You can dig your own grave, but leave his the fuck alone." The brunette grabbed his drink off the floor and headed to the garage for a cool-down smoke.

Kenny snatched his own beer up and fell back into his seat, his blood boiling. Who the hell did Kevin think he was, telling him to live his life? But still, it didn't stop a sinking feeling from settling into his gut.

And outside, having come back for his forgotten headphones, stood Kyle.

* * *

**Look, two chapters in two days to show you guys that I've pulled my head out of my ass. Also, no. I don't have a Beta.**

**I just post what I type up first go.**

**Anyways, who thinks Kenny can fuck up worse than this? Because if you say it's impossible, I will take that as a challenge.**

**Reviews, as always, are lovely.**

**3**


	15. It Gets Worse

Kyle stared blankly at his bedroom wall, his stomach tied in knots and his heart feeling as though it were tied tight with barbed wire. His breathing was shallow and his head felt as though it were floating amongst the clouds.

_What a nice idea,_ he thought distractedly. _Floating amongst the clouds… so nice._

He had left the McCormicks' on Friday without his headphones – he hadn't even bothered to knock. He had heard the whole exchange between Kenny and Kevin. It was all the redhead needed to hear to be pushed over the edge. Hollow eyes found their way to his wrist (right, of course, as he was left handed) and stared, unseeing, at the raised red lines.

Both out of fear and out of the want to leave no permanent marks behind, he had dragged a safety pin repeatedly across the stretch of pale skin. He had read about it in a self-help book in the school's guidance department. It was called "scratching", a less known, less lethal form of self harm. He figured it would be fine, but still give him the biting sting he was looking for. He knew it was clichéd and highly pointless, but the repetitive scratching helped distract him from the tightening in his chest. It left a pleasant burning feeling every time he lifted the tiny piece of metal from his wrist, and he would smile if he were able. Over and over, he scratched at the flesh, little scratches turning into tiny cuts, blood slipping and trailing across his skin.

Eventually, the rhythmic slashing stopped and Kyle returned to staring at the wall.

He knew it shouldn't be affecting him this strongly, but he couldn't help it. Overhearing Kenny tell his brother that he was just some kind of… of gutterfuck was like a spike to the gut. The redhead supposed he would have been okay if the blond had said it right to his face. Or if he had said that he was doing it to keep his friend happy. It would have meant that he cared at least a little. But this? This was just wrong! He only wanted sex. His best friend (not his superbest friend – that spot was eternally reserved for Stan) only wanted him for sex. Kyle supposed Kenny had spent the week with him just to loosen the tight button on his brand name skinnies.

In the corner of the room, his phone chimed.

Kyle looked towards it, frowning as it chirped out some lame video game-sounding version of Owl City's _The Bird & The Worm. _It was the ringtone he had set for when Kenny called. The song seemed to follow them everywhere and the redhead vaguely recalled the blonde making a joke about it being "their song". If he had the energy, he'd storm over and whip the device across the room. As it stood, he glared at the offending phone, willing it to explode. It had originally found its way to the corner when he had tossed it after the first few texts from Kenny. He had refused to answer and of them , and he could care less if the blonde was starting t worry.

…

Okay, he didn't want his crush (no point denying it now, huh?) to worry about him, but his pride wouldn't let him admit that. Wouldn't let him respond. The song played for another few seconds before it ended, signalling that Kenny had hung up, only to begin the chiming tone again a few seconds later. Groaning, Kyle stuffed his spare earbuds into his ears and clicked play. He watched as the little trails of blood trickled down and stained the bedding until his eyelids grew too heavy to keep open.

* * *

Kenny kicked his feet up on his art desk and leaned his chair back on two legs, smiling. Butters was sitting in front of him, chatting animatedly about a day he had spent with Bradley. Things had turned all sunshine and smiles between the two since the older teen had started working on his get-into-pants-free plan. He was mildly concerned that Kyle hadn't been answering his phone, but he just assumed that he didn't have his phone on him, or had lost it, or something equally as mundane. The blonde hadn't gone searching for his friend, content instead that they would see each other in art. He watched the door as Butters talked, only half listening.

The smile already playing across his face broke into a mega-watt grin when he saw Kyle slink into the large art room.

Kenny lifted his hand in a friendly wave. His smile almost instantly fell when the redhead looked down and shuffled into a seat at the front of the room. Okay, something was definitely up. He was about to go and see what was going on when the teacher whistled, drawing attention to the fact that class had started.

"Fuck…"

Class passed agonizingly slowly.

Kenny spent the entire 55 minutes scribbling away on his sketchbook, his pencil flying across the lightly textured paper seemingly of its own accord.

It wasn't until he was packing it up that he discovered he had filled a solid 6 pages of his book with scribbles and sketches of Kyle.

He slammed the book shut and ground his teeth, wondering where the sudden burst of sappy stupidity had come from. Stuffing his backpack, he kept an eye on the redhead, not wanting him to get away. Once his belongings were secured inside the bag, he hopped his desk and made his way to the front of the room. The smaller teen looked up and saw him weaving between desks and students. He tossed his satchel over his shoulder and made a break for the door.

He was almost out when a hand closed around his wrist.

"Okay dude, what's up?" Kenny spun Kyle around so they were facing each other, his hand still firmly on the other's wrist. "I was fine when you didn't respond this weekend, but this is insane."

Kyle glared up at the blonde, tears welling up both from the emotion and from the pressure irritating his wrist. The bandages beneath his sleeve rubbed against the raw skin and send pulses of discomfort up his arm. "Let go of me." He tried pulling his arm away, but only succeeded in causing himself more pain.

"Not until you tell me what's going on with you." He backed the smaller teen against the wall, thankful that the teacher had left with the first wave of kids.

Kenny squeezed his wrist, causing the redhead to wince and grind his teeth. "Fine," he snapped, the first tear making its way down his face. "You wanna know why Ii haven't been answering your texts and your calls? Why I sat up here instead of back there with you and Butters?" The blonde nodded, apparently not noticing the tears carving steady tracks down Kyle's face. "I heard you. I heard you talking to Kevin after I left on Friday."

Blue eyes widened and his mouth popped open in a comical 'o' as realization dawned on the teen. His grip loosened and the redhead tugged his wrist free. "You… heard us talking?" his arms hung uselessly at his sides as he stared down at his friend, his plan falling down around him. Inside, he felt his stomach drop and was helpless to stop it as his heart followed suit.

"Yes. I know that the only reason you're doing any of this is to get in my pants." Kyle didn't bother to wipe away the tears as they cascaded down his face. He wanted Kenny to see how hurt he was. "I know that you don't actually care about me. And I know that it makes me sick." Taking a steadying breathe, he brought himself up to his full height. "I'm starting to think that this is just in your nature. I don't think you can help it. And that's fine. But I will not be the one to scratch your itch, dude." He placed his hands on the blonde's chest and gently pushed him back. "Look, I'm sorry. But you're sick. Maybe you can get help."

"Dude… don't leave me…" Kenny's voice was quiet and strained, and he looked like a scolded dog. "Don't be mad, dude. C'mon. I-I was just being an idiot, y'know? I didn't mean any of it, seriously." He stuffed one hand in his pocket and pushed the other through his shaggy hair. He had no idea what emotion was behind the knots in his stomach or the aching in his chest – he just knew it hurt. He didn't want to be alone after being able to rely on the redhead for so long. Sure, they fought. But they always made up. This felt different. This felt final.

"I can't deal with knowing that al I am to you is a fuck buddy, dude," he muttered, once again moving to the door.

"But you're not! Kyle, you're my best friend."

"I might've believed that before, Ken. But not now." There was a soft click as the door opened and closed, leaving the blonde alone with his thoughts.

_Oh fuck… what have I done?_

* * *

__**Okay yes this chapter is shorter. But that's because I've done everything with this chapter that I wanted to.**

**Anyways, guys. We're close to the end! Stick with me, and keep leaving reviews!**


	16. Sometimes You Need a Friend

Blonde hair stuck up in countless directions, dark half-moons filled the space beneath wide eyes, and trembling hands gripped a mug as though it were a lifeline. Kenny looked up and was startled to see a blue-eyed Tweek staring back at him.

It took him a few minutes to realize that he was staring at the surveillance mirror.

It was Wednesday and he was working his short shift at the convenience store, whiling away the hours with mugs of coffee and loud music. His iPod – a massive thing with literally months of space that Kyle had given him – was plugged into the dock under the counter, filling the store with techno remixes of 80s rock songs. It had been an unusually slow night, and the monotony was beginning to drive the blonde insane. It meant he was alone with his thoughts, and that was enough to push the teen over the edge. He had run the encounter over and over in his mind, and he still couldn't think of anything he could have done. He had fucked up. But the worst part wasn't the thoughts. Oh, no.

It was the feelings that came with them.

Kenny couldn't eat because his stomach had twisted itself beyond recognition. He couldn't sleep because when he did, he'd dream of Kyle and wake up with small damp patches on his pillow.

Everything made Kenny think of him. From how Kyle would sit on the counter and chat with him when nights were slow. Or maybe he'd see a CD that he thought the smaller teen would like, then remember he had no way of giving it to him.

It was Wednesday of his last week – he only had two more days of assured contact with Kyle. Two days to reverse the biggest mistake he had ever made. And that was saying something, considering he used to huff cat piss. He knew he had fucked up bad, and he had a horrible feeling in his gut that told him he was all out of second chances. He had crocodile-teared his way back into Kyle's life once, and he knew it wouldn't happen again.

Kenny groaned and rested his head against the cold glass top of the counter, willing work to be over. He felt sick to his stomach whenever he thought about what he had done. He'd been certain that all he wanted out of Kyle was a few casual friend fucks. He slept with his friends all the time and no one else ever exploded at him like that. Maybe it was because he had lied? But, really, he hadn't. He was always sweet with his friends when he wanted to sleep with them. It helped them relax, and the blonde genuinely liked making people happy. And sex was one of the only ways he knew how. He wasn't good at much else, and had never really found anything he enjoyed even half as much, save for art. And Kyle hadn't really seemed angry. He had looked… hurt. And that look had caused a knot of solid… yuck inside of him that he just couldn't seem to shake.

He lifted his head and looked at the clock. He got off in 10.

With a sense of dread still crystallizing in his gut, he called Butters.

* * *

Relaxing music played through a set of speakers that looked like little panda heads as Kenny curled against Butter's side and hugged a stuffed rabbit close to his chest.

"I did a bad thing, dude…" The older teen stared blankly at a poster of the Spice Girls and tried to will his jumbled emotions away.

"Yeah. You, uh, really stepped in it this time, Ken." The small blonde idly stroked the mop of unruly straw hair on the other's head. They had been sitting like that for an hour – Kenny mumbling about fucking up and Butters trying to console him. So far, it hadn't worked.

"And I'm not even at all pissed that I got caught." He paused and clutched the stuffed rabbit a little tighter. "Okay, I am. But I'm more pissed that I did it. Pissed at myself. Like, fuck Butters. Kyle was happy just to be hangin' 'round with me, y'know?" He shifted a bit so his head was more comfortable on Butters' lap. "And I think that him being happy made me happy… or whatever. Fuck, that's pretty gay." Kenny had always prided himself on not being gay. Sure, he liked men and thought dick was great, but that didn't mean he was gonna carry a fagbag and go around calling everyone "girl". No. _That_ was gay.

Butters frowned and stopped petting Kenny for a moment, which caused the shaggy blonde to look up. "That's not really… _gay_," he mumbled thoughtfully, resuming his petting. "It just means more to y-you than you're, ah, willin to admit. An' besides, if anythin's gay here, it's… well, uh, it's me." He smiled and ruffled his friend's hair.

"Fruity as fuck," Kenny agreed, wrapping his arms around Butter's leg and moving to bury his face against his thigh. "I don't think he's gonna forgive me. Ever."

"Now, Ken." Butters tried to sound more stern than usual. His friend was so out of character – it was starting to unnerve him. He needed to figure out how to get the happy Kenny back. "You've fudged up somethin' awful, an' you were bein' a pretty yuckey person. You said some nasty stuff, an' Kyle heard it." He both heard and felt his friend groan against his leg, obviously hating to be reminded of that had put him in this situation. "But there's a couple a things that I know for sure. F-first, Kyle loves ya, Ken. And he'll forgive you. Second, you didn't mean what you said. You like Kyle a whole heck of a lot." He gently patted the blonde on the head and sighed.

There was a long stretch of silence, the only sound coming from the panda speakers. Butters was starting to suspect that Kenny had fallen asleep when he heard a quiet mumble.

"What was that, Ken? You need to speak up." He frowned slightly and leaned closer to his friend.

"How do you know?" he repeated, looking up at Butters.

"How do I know? Well, uh, Kyle talked about you an awful lot, and he just looked at ya like…"

"No, dude. Not that. It's obvious that Kyle's got the hots for me, and I was a dumbass for not seeing it. I mean that other part. Y'know, the part about me."

Butters thought for a moment before laughing. Kenny looked confused and more than a little hurt as the smaller teen's shoulders shook. "Well, gee, Ken. If you weren't t-totally h-head over heels for him, ya w-wouldn't be here whinin' about wanting him back!"

Kenny sat up and stared, dumbfounded, at Butters. "Dude."

The younger blonde nodded, still giggling quietly. "Yeah, Ken?"

"You are so fucking right it hurts." He fisted both hands in his hair and groaned. His stomach was still twisting in on itself, but now it felt like bees were buzzing around inside of it. His head felt light, and he couldn't help but think he was probably the biggest dumbass in South Park. The first time he had tried anything with Kyle, he had still been dating Red – a perfectly willing lay. Next, he had actually stopped when Kyle didn't seem into it. If he had just wanted sex, wouldn't he have just pushed ahead? Regardless of what Kyle said or did? And he wouldn't fight so hard to get the redhead back every time he fucked up if he didn't really care. And, honestly, would he be sitting in Butter's bed sniffling like a heartbroken teenage girl if he wasn't at least feeling _something_? Kenny stared dumbly at his friend, his mind going too fast to keep up with. He was happy when he was with Kyle. Life wasn't so bad then. His family wasn't so poor, his parents weren't so horrible, and he wasn't so sad. "I… really, really fucked up."

The small blonde nodded and placed his hands over Kenny's, gently pulling them out of his hair and setting them on his lap. "Ken, I care about you a whole heck of a lot. And I want you to be happy. But I don't think that's gonna happen unless you find some way to work this out."

Frowning, the older teen fell back against a pile of stuffed toys. "I have two days until he can totally push me out of his life. How the fuck am I gonna get him to not hate me?" He covered his face and grunted, realizing just how deep he had dug himself.

* * *

The day he told Kenny to leave him alone, Kyle had actually cut himself.

He could only drag the blade across his wrist a few times before the pain got to be too much and he had to stop. Then he spent the rest of the night thinking about how stupid self-harm was.

Seriously, hurting yourself?

Yes, it may release all sorts of stress and endorphins or whatever, but at the cost of physical pain and visible damage. It was really the most ridiculous response to inner turmoil that he count thing of. He wasn't some prissy ass emo kid who flopped his bangs over one eye and complained about conformists or Hot Topic or Pete Wentz's popularity. Is that even what emo kids did? He wasn't sure. Either way, he cleaned and bandaged the cuts before setting a movie up on his lap top. He needed something to distract him.

Which is exactly the same thing he found himself doing Wednesday, minus the self harm and inner reprimands. His wrist was still bandaged under a set of colorful bracelets, and his lap top was playing another sappy romance movie. He didn't want to cry over Kenny any more – there had been too much of that the first few days – so he settled for crying over two complete strangers falling in love and never seeing each other again. He didn't have to worry about running into his friend at school – the blonde had done his best to slink away from the redhead and keep his head down, normally with his hood pulled up. Kyle couldn't remember him ever wearing his hood when they were getting really close. He had thought that not having contact with him would make things easier; all it did was make him sick.

"Kyle?" a loud voice called from the other side of his bedroom door, causing him to grown. "Dude, I'm coming in. If I see any gay shit, I'm gonna scream." A few seconds later, Stan pushed the door open and slid inside.

Upon seeing Kyle bundled up in his blankets, lat top playing some feel-bad romantic bullshit, he shook his head.

"Alright, man. When did you turn so gay?"

"I thought I was gay #3."

"You are one Hello Kitty pillow away from outgaying Butters." He sat on the edge of the bed and shut his friend's lap top. "You haven't been answering your phone. What's up?"

Kyle pulled a face and tried to tug his laptop away from Stan, knowing he wouldn't win a match of tug-o-war with the football player, but trying anyways. "Nothing's up, Stan. Now give me my laptop. She's about to find out that he's not actually cheating on her."

"If you already know what happens, you don't need to watch it. Stop changing the subject and tell me what's up. You haven't mentioned Kenny all week. Don't think I didn't notice. Not spill." He pushed back against the wall, keeping a critical eye on Kyle.

Blankets rustled as the redhead shifted around, trying to think of how he could explain things. "Okay… so, I was at Kenny's house Friday night." Dark eyebrows shot up into darker hair and Stan smirked. "Calm down, there wasn't any happy ending or anything. Anyways, so it was going pretty good. I got to stay for a CPS meeting, and there was… y'know, cuddling. Then I left, but I forgot my headphones. And when I went back, I heard hip talking to Kevin about how he was… how I was just a quick lay." He bit his lip and tugged at one of his bracelets, pretending to be intensely interested in his blanket.

There were both quiet while they mulled over what had just been said. It was the first time Kyle had said anything out loud, and the first time he had actually talked to Stan about his crush. Neither was entirely sure what to say.

Finally, Stan broke the uneasy silence.

"Dude, that is fucked. Even for him."

Kyle nodded, loose copper curls swaying slightly even after he stopped. "I heard Kevin say that too. It's a dick move, yeah. I just… even our friendship is fucked to Hell on it." He pushed his hands through his hair and sighed. "It just doesn't seem like something he'd do, y'know?"

Stan nodded slowly, thoughtfully. "Part of me wants to kick his ass and part of me wants to see what's up. Something really seems off about it."

"You can talk to him if you want. But I'm not taking his chit. I'd rather deal with Cartman."

* * *

**I hope y'all realize that this thing is so close to being done.**

**So close, I can taste it.**

**Yup.**

**Tastes like angst.**

**Please keep reviewing guys! Seriously. I dunno if it's worth working on if you guys don't tell me!**


	17. Oh

"McCormick!"

Kenny winced and ducked his head when he heard Stan call him from across the busy hall. He only called the blond's last name when he really wanted his hard-to-catch attention. And he knew exactly why the other teen had called him this time.

"Yo, Stan!" He smiled and waved, grudgingly making his way through the stream of pushing and shouting teens. "What's up?"

"I could ask you the same thing." Raising an eyebrow, he regarded Kenny critically.

"Oh yeah?" _**Shit.**_

"I was at Kyle's last night."

"Huh, yeah? That's cool. How is he?"

"He cut himself."

Kenny, who had been looking for an easy out and shifting his weight from foot to foot uncomfortably, froze. "What?" He could feel his heart pounding in his head and a churning in his stomach. The blond had cut himself before – lots of times – but had stopped when it resulted in more than one long, dragged-out death. And Kyle would always worry. Fussing and cleaning and bandaging. He thought it was stupid and would always spout off a massive speech about how irrational it was. The booky redhead must've been seriously upset to resort to something like that.

Stan folded his arms across his broad chest and squared his already intimidatingly large shoulders. They both knew he wouldn't hurt anyone – wouldn't even raise a fist – but it helped with the scare factor. "Yeah. Seems someone got him pretty messed up, dude."

Kenny ground his teeth and watched his friend, his temper bubbling. He knew he had made a mistake; he didn't need anyone pointing it out. "I fucked up."

"Yeah, I know. But why?"

He shrugged and looked down, trying to avoid the conversation. _Fuck you for being the reasonable one, Stan._

"No, dude. You're not acting like yourself and Kyle's…" he seemed to be struggling to find the right word, unsure of what it was he wanted to convey, "… he's heartbroken. You're gonna tell me what's up."

"Fuck man, I don't know!" The blond sighed heavily and rubbed his temples as the few remaining stragglers in the hall stopped and turned to look at him, interests piqued by the outburst. "I thought I wanted sex, and I did. I mean, I still cared about Kyle – dude's my best friend – but I really wanted to get laid. But… I dunno, Stan. Something when on and I kinda realized I don't just want sex and… dude I was partially telling Kev what I thought he wanted to hear and half trying to convince myself." The teen felt a spark of panic when he realized a dam had just broke. He couldn't stop talking, using Stan as a sound board for everything he had bottled up inside. "I didn't want to admit to Kev – er, myself – that I might actually feel, y'know, different." He tugged at the strings of his hooded vest, wanting nothing more than to feel the comforting fabric around his head. "And now… now I just messed it up, okay? He's not gonna forgive me this time. So, yeah. I'm not acting like myself because I'm not feeling like myself." He glared at Stan before flipping up his hood and slouching off down the hall.

Stan sighed and pushed a hand through his hair. "Holy shit, dude."

* * *

"Oh, fuck you!"

"Fuck you too, you skinny bitch!"

There was a series of loud thuds, cracks, and smacks, followed by more shouting.

"Hit me again, I dare you! I'll kick your fat sorry ass!"

"That's bullshit! You couldn't if you – 'ey! Get out of my way!"

There was another loud thud followed by some cheering.

"I win." Red smiled and folded her arms, xbox controller still hanging from her hand. Behind her, on the large screen, one over-muscled, slightly pixilated man stood over another, his arms raised in the air in obvious celebration. The letters "K.O." flashed obnoxiously across the image, obviously made to taunt whoever happened to be the loser.

"Yeah, but you cheated." Cartman glared up at the petite girl from his spot on the couch.

"Yeah, so? You cheat all the time."

"… Right. Points for you, ginger."

"Thanks, fatass." Laughing, she flopped down across him, laying as if he wasn't even there. "So now that I've kicked your lumpy ass, what do you want to do?" She stretched, pointing her toes.

"I dunno, bitch. Watch a movie?" He grunted and moved her to get more comfortable.

"Oh, Eric, did you hear about Kenny and Kyle?"

"What? No. Spill." Cartman's eyes lit up and he licked his lips. Any gossip involving that spineless Jew was good gossip.

"Their little love affair blew up. Ken told Kev that he just wanted to get in Kyle's pants. And, well, he heard. So now they're, like, not talking. It's this whole thing. People are taking sides. No one's on Ken's." Her hands danced and twitched through the air as she animatedly rambled on about the newest drama.

Frowning, Cartman asked, "really? People are on that Jew's side?"

Red nodded. "Well, duh. Everyone's mad at Ken. He fucked up hard."

"Think they'll work shit out?"

"No idea."

There was a pause while Cartman thought. "Ah well. What movie do you wanna watch?"

* * *

Kenny pressed his head against his locker and sighed. He felt like shit and whispered, and sometimes not-so-whispered, nastiness followed him everywhere he went. It hadn't taken long for those few observers in the hall to spread his little mistake throughout the school. When you're in as small of a school as South Park High, word travels fast. And everyone had decided that the blond teen was the ultimate criminal of the week. He wouldn't care what everyone said or thought if he could just talk to Kyle about it.

It was Thursday. One day left.

Only one day to get the small redhead to forgive him. To let him back into his life. Everyday he would slip late into art, hoping that his friend would be back in his usual spot. And everyday he would be sitting up front with everyone else. So Kenny would sit, alone, and sketch pictures of him until class ended.

Which was why his head was down and his shoulders sagged as he slunk into the art room on his second last day. He dragged his feet most of the way to the desk before looking up.

And there was Kyle, at their table.

Suddenly, the blond felt his breath hitch. His vision narrowed, he sword his heart stopped, and he couldn't seem to remember how to breathe properly. He felt like some kind of lovesick teenage girl in a cheesy romance. Sick and panicked and happy and scared, all a once.

Is this what Damian has meant about love?

As soon as that thought crossed his mind, reality came rushing back. His hearted started back up with a vengeance, trying to hammer its way through his chest. Lungs expanded faster and farther than they should. His stomach twisted and tensed in more ways than one would think possible. The pounding of his heart rattled around in his head, giving him the beginnings of a painful headache. Kenny thought he finally understand why Stan always threw up on Wendy.

Having been shocked back to reality, the blond continued to shuffle towards his seat. He dropped himself unceremoniously into his seat and stared down at his desk, unsure of what else to do. There was still a thumping in his head and chest, and he was half-convinced the redhead could hear it. Finally he mumbled a quiet "I'm sorry" through the sudden thickness in his throat. He knew that the class buzzed with restless almost-summer chatter, but he seemed unable to hear it. He was only able of focusing on Kyle.

The other teen shuffled around some papers and scratched at his sketchbook for so long that Kenny was certain his apology had gone unheard. He was about to repeat himself when Kyle simply said "I know."

There was another stretch of silence, uncomfortable on one end, preferred on the other. The class had finally quieted down, and the hush was weighing on the blond. Being so close to Kyle but not even being able to joke around with him was worse than being ignored completely. Every so often Kenny would shift – hopefully unnoticed – a fraction of an inch closer to his friend.

Kyle noticed, but couldn't bring himself to stop it.

"Do you hate me?"

"No."

"Will you forgive me?"

"I don't know."

"Oh."

Kenny looked down at his sketchbook again, realizing he had no idea what he was supposed to be doing. And, on top of that, he didn't know what he should be doing about Kyle. He watched the redhead out of the corner of his eye. He could see his wrist, pale bandages visible between colourful bands and bracelets. The sick, twisting feeling in his stomach came back, rolling and curling in on itself in some sort of grotesque internal ballet. The urge to reach out and rub the pad of his thumb over the cuts.

"I'm sorry."

"You said that."

"Oh."

He sketched quietly for a little while, scribbling down rough outlines of hands and bodies. He tried not to draw anything too distinct, but still ended up drawing a bandaged arm covered in familiar bangles. In the corner of his page sat two unfinished forms watching a sunset glow in different shades of grey.

"I didn't mean it."

"Okay."

"Do you believe me?"

"I don't know."

"Oh."

Kenny went back to scratching away at the lightly textured paper with his tiny nub of a pencil. The air was thick and the room silent as the other students worked on their unknown pieces. It was nearly the end of school, so he assumed it was a sort of free sketch period to fill in as much space in the sketchbooks as the students could. Butters sat sideways in his seat, facing Craig and Tweek, with his tongue stuck out in concentration. Tweek was nestled up against Craig's side, shaking far less than usual. It was obvious that Butters was drawing them. The blond looked down at his own book and frowned. Had he done any real portraits? He looked back up to the board. _**FREE DRAW**_. Oh, alright. A quick glance over to the clock. 10 minutes. Okay.

"You're sitting beside me."

"Yeah."

"Thanks."

"The other seats were taken."

"Oh."

Kenny couldn't help but silently curse himself. Normally, he could talk his way in or out of any situation. _Wow, this is romantic_, he thought bitterly. _Where's the ray of light? The soft music? This isn't like falling in love in the movies._

There was that word again.

"I like you."

Kyle reached over and turned the volume up on his iPod. Kenny could hear The Bird & The Worm through the headphones.

The redhead hoped that the other knew it meant "I like you too."

* * *

I owe you guys an explanation.

Truth be told, I stopped updating because I fell out of love with this story. It happens a lot actually. Unfortunately. I have a terrible love-hate relationship with this story because some parts of it are so old and I honestly HATE the beginning. But you guys, my lovely readers, want me to continue. So I will. I think there's only 2 or 3 chapters left anyways.

Well, thank you for reading, and I apologize for my sporadic updating.

Lots of love,

Chase.


	18. It's Called Communication, Dumbass

Kenny's head was still swirling with a whirlwind of confusing emotions while he sat at home, plucking idly at the strings of his old guitar. He laid down on his uncomfortable mattress and stared up at the ceiling, still playing tuneless notes. He smiled as Karen slid in and nudged the door shut behind her.

"Hey Karebear," he smiled and shifted over for his little sister.

Smiling back, she sat down. "Hey Ken. Whatcha doin?"

"Just playing. Thinking. Being all philosophical and shit. What about you? Where's everyone else?" Carefully setting his guitar off to the side, he sat back up. The house had been oddly quiet, so much so that he had assumed he was the only one home.

"Kev's at the shop and mom and dad are down at Linda's office again. I'm just checking up on you. You know you usually only play when you're upset." She ruffled his moderately-dirty hair, looking concerned.

Kenny frowned and shrugged, muttering something along the lines of "I'm just… not feeling okay."

"Is it about Kyle?"

"What makes you think that, Kare?" He shifted uncomfortably, looking around the room; sometimes his sister was too smart for her own good.

"I haven't seen him since Friday and Ike said he's been sitting in his room watching, like, girly movies." Karen folded her arms and glared at her brother, looking every inch the impatient mother. "Now, what's going on?"

The blond shrugged again. "He's pissed at me."

"Then fix it. You were happy with Kyle."

"Dunno how."

There was a moment of silence while Karen thought before her eyes lit up and every movement she made became dramatic and too fast. "It's like when Megan and Jason got in a fight. Jason totally kissed Tammy under the climber when he was supposed to be with Megan. Oh my god, Kenny, she was so pissed. Anyways, Jason was in soooooo much trouble." She flipped her hair over her shoulder, gossip mode in full-and-frightening-swing. "He had no idea what to do, right? But you remember that Jason's brother plays in that band, right?" Karen paused and stared at Kenny who simply nodded dumbly. He had no idea who any of these people were, but was enjoying his little sister's animated chatter. It was rare to see her so alive. "Anyways, he got his brother to write Megan a song."

"He should've waited until he needed to get laid to pull out that one." The blond smiled and covered his face in mock-fear as she swung at him, slapping him hard on the shoulder.

"No! Kenny! Think for a sec. He got her to forgive him using _music_. He got her a song, Ken. Think about that." She kissed his forehead and twirled out of his room, smiling.

Sometimes his sister was too strange to even begin to comprehend. Must be a girl thing.

Kenny went back to staring at the ceiling, trying to understand what Karen had said. Coming up with nothing, he rolled over and grabbed his guitar. Suddenly, realization dawned on him and he smiled.

He knew what he was going to do to get Kyle back.

* * *

"Stan, you really should stay out of it." Wendy stood with her arms folded and her right hip jetted out: a stance all men knew meant "trouble".

"But he's my friend, Wen. And he's making a massive mistake." Stan pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut against the beginnings of a headache. "He's too nice. He's opening himself up for a pile of shit."

"Or he's taking a necessary risk. Kyle isn't stupid, Stan. Maybe he's seeing this in a way you're not." She frowned as her mind worked overtime to try and think of a way to help her boyfriend understand. "Do you love me?"

"What? Of course, why?" He frowned as well, confused by the sudden topic change.

"Have you ever been mad at me?"

"Yeah, but not for long. Look, what are you talking about? What does this have to do with anything?" Irritated, the dark haired boy moved on to rubbing his temples in an attempt to fight off the pain and waiting impatiently for her to explain.

"So, even though Kenny's trying to make it better, Kyle can't feel that way?" She reached behind her head to tighten her ponytail and glared at him with a look that clearly warned him to choose his words carefully.

Stan opened and closed his mouth a few times before finally shutting it and hanging his head. The thought that Kyle could be in love with Kenny hadn't crossed his mind. He had just assumed that his friend was still a little torn up from his break up with Bebe, and that was why he had taken things so badly.

"See? I know you're concerned about your friend, Stan. But you should just let him handle it. If he needs you, he'll tell you." Wendy walked over and cupped his face. "You worry too much." She smiled and kissed him.

He sighed and leaned into it, willing everything to work itself out.

* * *

Kyle stretched out on the couch, hope causing butterflies to flit about in his stomach. He felt apprehensive as well; part of him was sure he was making a mistake, and another part was sure that he was doing exactly what he should be doing. The nagging feeling that Kenny _belonged _in his life just wouldn't quit. Maybe it was just because he had always been there. Or maybe – just maybe – he felt that way because there was something else going on between him and the blond. Either way, he knew his friend needed to be in his life.

He had come to close to forgiving Kenny in art. It was all he could do not to rest his head on the other's shoulder and say "I forgive you". But he was sick of being the pushover. Sick of always forgiving without cause. He wasn't weak or whiny like everyone seemed to think. And he intended to make the blond work for it.

Groaning, Kyle rolled over, curled up, and tugged a blanket over his head. A patch of red curls still stuck out. The teen had spent so much time the last little while that he had barely slept, and it was starting to catch up to him. He was starting to doze off when he heard an uncharacteristically quiet voice call his name.

With a grunt, he rolled back over and peeked out from under the blanket. "Mom?" He stared at an oddly nervous looking Sheila. "What's up?" She had barely talked to him since he had come back after the little coming-out fiasco, and that – coupled with her attitude – put him on edge.

"Can I sit, Kyle?" She edged her way towards the couch when her son pulled himself into a sitting position and nodded.

"Is everything okay?" frowning, the teen watched his mother closely.

"Yes, Kyle. I… I wanted to apologize. Your father and I have been thinking and talking. And he got all these books and showed me these videos…" there was a pause while she took a shaky breath, fighting to keep her composure. "And there is nothing wrong with who you are."

Kyle's eyes flicked back and forth across his mother's face, trying to comprehend what she had just said. Did she really mean it? Wait, had she actually said it or was he having some fevered sleep-deprived dream? He nodded slowly, thinking of how she said his father had helped. "You really think there's nothing wrong with me?" He was skeptical, so used to his mother's closed mind that this acceptance refused to sit well.

"Not a thing, Kyle." Sheila placed a hand on his cheek and looked as though she may cry. "You're still my Kyle. I just… know more about you now." It was obvious that the woman was struggling, but she was trying nonetheless.

There was a long stretch of silence before Kyle reached out and placed a hand over hers. "Mom, I'm not asking you to accept me without question. Just to… try and work with me on it." He patted her hand gently and forced a smile. He was stunned by what she was doing; she hardly ever caved, especially not on something so important. It meant a lot, and suddenly a massive weight lifted itself off of his shoulders.

His mom smiled and squeezed his knee with her free hand. "Kyle, I'll always love you. Even if I don't always understand you." She leaned over and kissed his forehead, causing a knot to catch itself in his throat. "I love you."

Kyle willed himself not to cry as he told her he loved her too.

Sheila smiled and stood up, unshed tears shining in her eyes. At the door, she stopped and turned back to her son. "I still expect you to bring nice boys home to meet the family, just like you did with girlfriends. And it would it be too much to ask that he was Jewish?" She smiled once more before turning and leaving.

He felt his heart sink and his stomach churn. He could barely talk to the guy he wanted to date, let alone bring him over for dinner.

* * *

Kenny sat in a secluded booth at Tweak Bros., chewing on the eraser end of his pencil. His notebook was opened to a new page and a smile pile of crumpled sheets sat off to the side. He sipped at his coffee – a 2 cream, 3 sugar, double flavour shot of caramel that costs him $4 every time he does. But it's so fucking worth it. Humming to himself, he looked up at the only two people who would be willing to work a coffee shop at 10:30 on a Thursday.

Tweek leaned against the counter, fiddling with the frayed edge of a large pocket on the front of his black and green apron. Craig leaned against a clear-fronted fridge across from him, his arms folded. The blond mumbled something, causing the dark-haired teen to bark off a laugh and – Jesus fucking Christ – actually smile_. It's amazing_, Kenny thought, _watching them interact. Craig's taller, of course – coffee stunts your growth, right? – and he's lanky as hell. But solid. He's quiet, but not to the point of being a boring piece of shit, and he doesn't get himself into half as many fights as he used to. Tweek, though? He's compact and anxious as all fuck, and still a little scrappy. The kid took boxing to deal with his stress – some kinda relief thing – so he could probably kick your ass if he wanted. It's like they're exact opposites. They balance each other out so fucking well it's insane. Tweek gets Craig to open up and actually emote, and Craig gets Tweek to chill the fuck out. They're some kind of power couple._

Kenny snorted at the way his mind managed to focus on anything and everything other than what he needed to do, and turned his attention back to the blank page.

He could write music, he could draw, he could paint, sculpt, etch, photograph, and scribble. But couldn't – fucking _**could not**_ – write the goddamn words to a song to save his life.

Groaning loud enough to be heard over at the counter, he thumped his head down against the table, causing Tweek to shout "Jesus Christ" and hop forward into Craig's chest. The blond look back up sheepishly and offered an apologetic smile, ignoring the tug in his gut when he saw the shorter teen huddled against his boyfriend.

"How do you do it?" he blurted, blaming his lost sleep and stress over Kyle for his lack of tact. _Good job, McCormick._

"Do what? You'll have to be more specific." Craig was still smiling, albeit faintly, and Tweek was pressed against his side.

Kenny flailed a hand in their general direction, then let out and exasperated sigh when they didn't get it. He was used to the people around him understanding his non-verbal habits. He could think a mile a minute and have everything in order in his head, but there was a disconnect somewhere between there and his mouth. "Not fuck up," he snapped finally. "Have a functioning relationship."

"We just don't fuck up, dude. I-it's really not that hard." Tweek shook slightly, almost buzzing. He was giving the other blond a critical sort of look that said he knew exactly why he was asking.

"So you just… don't fuck up."

"We t-talk about the shit that's g-getting t-to us. No lies or – fuck – secrets." He reached over and grabbed a mug, slurping quietly at the coffee, eyes still focused on the other teen. Tweek barely ever looked at one thing for too long, but when he did, it was intense. His wide green eyes were framed by dark shadows and he never seemed to blink.

It freaked Kenny out.

"So… communication."

"Yeah."

"… That does fuck all when he won't even talk to me." Kenny looked back at his page and tugged at the strings for his hoodie. "What about songs? You guys any good at writing those?" He looked back and they both shook their heads. "Ffffuuuuck," he hissed, tugging harder.

"Have you tried rewriting a song?"

"What?"

"Changing the words of a song that already exists, dumbass." Even Craig's jabs were less pointed, as if Tweek just made everything about him more relaxed.

Kenny paused and gnawed on his pencil again, spitting out the tiny chunks he bit off. What song could he rewrite and play? He had only bothered to learn a few songs, choosing instead to write his own music and hum a wordless tune along with it.

Slowly, he realized that he knew one song that would work better than perfectly.

He left Tweek Bros. an hour later with a stupid smile and a finished song.

* * *

Guys this is the second last chapter and I have no idea what I'm doing oh my god someone please stop me.

But yes, I know. It probably seems stupid at this point. But I can't help it.

Plus, I want Kenny to be happy.

I kind of really love him.

Reviews please, lovelies!

-Chase


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